Flu
Chapter 45
"That bites!" Rick spits out as Kate passes on Montgomery's order.
"I know," she agrees, "but I already called my guys in Jersey. If Gohmert tries to take off, we'll at least find out about it. How do things look for the pumpkin carving contest?"
"Pretty good. One of Alexis' friends is an organizer. She told me they're going to meet their goal." Rick figures it's better or at least kinder, not to mention that Kates pumpkin was placed in the junior division. When the kids setting up assumed a grade-schooler carved it, Rick didn't bother to correct them. A good cause is a good cause. "While you've been awaiting disaster to befall its newest victim, did you turn up anything else on the Gohmerts?"
"Nothing much about the older one, Jefferson B., a dispute with a neighbor over property lines that ended up as an assault charge. But that was years ago, and he didn't serve any jail time. Jefferson D…"
"Don't tell me he was named after Jefferson Davis," Castle interrupts.
"OK, I won't tell you," Kate quips. "He was in multiple brawls, apparently stemming from various sporting events, and ended up serving 14 months. But all of that happened within a few years of graduating from Hudson U. Either he's been clean since then or hasn't been caught. What I can't figure out is why he doesn't drive. Outside of New Yorkers who can't afford to keep a car and get around fine on public transportation, who doesn't drive?"
"Some people have a phobia about driving," Rick points out. "I know an author like that. He's a savant about how to get from anywhere to anywhere on the subway. His publisher hires a driver for him when he's on tour. And there are restrictions for medical reasons too, aren't there?"
"Probably not as many as there should be," Kate mulls. "It doesn't take much to pass the vision test. Every so often, a diabetic loses consciousness and plows into someone. And some seniors insist on getting behind the wheel long past the time they should stick with cabs. Doctors can have the license pulled from someone with uncontrolled seizures."
"Right. That happened to Jason, a literary buddy of mine. It turned out it was a rare side effect to a medication he was taking. When the doctor finally took him off it, the seizures went away. But he had a hell of a time getting his license back. The same doctor who prescribed the pills that gave him the seizures tipped off the DMV. The medic didn't want to admit his mistake."
"Did Jason sue?" Kate asks.
"He started a suit but settled on having the doctor swear to a detailed description of what happened. With a side effect that uncommon, Jason's lawyer wasn't sure they'd win the case or get a big enough award to be worth pursuing it. But Jason told me that according to his research, adverse drug reactions happen fairly often. And Kate, we've been looking for someone who used a drug with known problems and took a lot of it."
Kate nods slowly. "Yes, we have." The ring of her landline jolts her out of her ruminations. She grabs a pen and notepad as she picks up the receiver. "Right. Got it."
"Body?" Rick asks.
"Uh-huh. You know Terry, that hotdog vendor near the courthouse who sells roasted chestnuts during the holidays?"
"I love those chestnuts!" Castle exclaims.
"Then you're going to have to find another source. Terry's dead."
Lana Springer looks up from unrolling the yellow tape she's using to cordon off the crime scene. Detective Beckett, Mr. Castle, I'm glad you're on this one."
"Good to see you too, Officer Springer, but aren't you outside the jurisdiction of your precinct?" Kate asks.
"Yeah," Lana acknowledges. "But I have to testify in court this morning, and Eli has motions before the bench in another case, so we met for breakfast. I have a thing for the root beer that Terry sells – sold – in those old-fashioned glass bottles."
"That's great soda," Castle interjects.
"Anyway, I was almost to Terry's cart when I saw him fall. I called the paramedics, but he died before they got here. They said he lost a lot of blood. Anyway, I was the first cop on the scene, so I figured I was responsible for securing it and waiting for a detective to arrive. I had no idea it would be you."
"You did the right thing." Kate gazes past Lana to see Perlmutter squatting next to the body. "Looks like the M.E. is here," she notes as Castle groans at the sight of the irascible pathologist. Kate lightly tugs on Rick's sleeve. "Come on. Cheer up, Babe. You can visualize Perlmutter's face as a model the next time you carve one of your signature pumpkins."
Rick follows Kate toward where Terry lies on the concrete near his cart. "No way. I'm supposed to delight the customers, not give them heartburn."
Perlmutter rises from his crouch. "Ah, Detective Beckett and," he grimaces, "Castle. I assume Officer Springer informed you that she witnessed this man's death. The body is still warm."
"What's the COD?" Kate asks.
"He was stabbed, only once, but very effectively," Perlmutter replies, imitating the motion of jabbing someone with a knife. "It would have been very quick. The murderer could have thrust and just walked away after killing Mr. Hanson here."
"Hanson," Castle repeats. "I always knew him just as Terry."
"Hanson was on his operating license." Perlmutter points to the cart. "For the benefit of your defective detection skills, it's posted right here. He also had ID in his wallet. But if I may continue, Mr. Hanson might have felt like he was punched in the chest, before becoming dizzy from loss of blood. From what I see so far, the blade severed at least one pulmonary vein and entered the lung, but I'll know more when I get the body back to the lab."
"What would it take to make a wound like that?" Kate inquires.
Perlmutter attacks the air with a tightly curled fist. "Considerable strength. The stroke would have had to penetrate a rib. And it came from above. Your killer is tall and has a lot of muscle."
"A lot of that going around lately," Castle comments.
"Let's go, Babe," Kate urges him. "With Ryan and Esposito both out, I have to talk to Springer again and organize a canvass. And I'll need you to help me scrub any camera footage we can get. We know when the killer was here almost to the minute. If he's on video, we shouldn't have any trouble spotting him."
"If a killer that practiced let himself be caught on camera," Rick mutters.
"Sooner or later, every killer makes a mistake," Kate asserts. "If a camera didn't record anything helpful, someone saw something. This should be an easy one. We know what, where, how, and have at least a starting description of who."
Rick can feel a disconcerting churning in his stomach for no reason he can put his finger on. Something about Terry Hanson's murder isn't as straightforward as Kate thinks. He just doesn't know what. For sure, he wants to hear anything else Springer and any other possible witnesses can remember. Rick trots after his wife as she approaches the uniformed officers keeping the curious at bay until CSU can sweep for evidence.