Flu
Chapter 53
Lanie drains the last of her giant Fruity-Fizz as she waits for Kate to pick up her phone. "Girlfriend, your killer might be a deer hunter."
Kate activates her speaker. "I'm letting Rick in on this. Can you rewind a little? Why would our killer be a deer hunter?"
"OK," Lanie explains. "I heard from Lorne Faulkner, an M.E. I used to hang with. He had a case with the leather thing too, but his lab found another clue. Wait, are you two cooking?"
"Yeah, kind of," Kate confirms.
"Then I won't give you the gruesome details now, but they'll be in an email I'm forwarding to you. It looks like your guy's killed twice. And Kate, I think he likes killing. There may be more."
"A cheerful thought," Rick remarks.
"It's not like we didn't suspect it," Kate reminds him. "Lanie, thanks for putting out the word so fast. Have you heard anything about getting a flight to see your parents yet?"
Rick can hear the M.E. sigh. "Still in a holding pattern."
"We'll have more than enough pie if our humble family becomes your fallback," Rick assures her.
"Never mind the pie, writer man. If I'm stuck in New York, I want to console myself with some of those triple chocolate brownies you bake when you're trying to convince Kate to do something stupid," Lanie demands.
"Roger that. Triple chocolate brownies will be standing by," Rick promises.
After shoving her phone back in her pocket, Kate wraps her arm around Rick's waist. We've still got a lot to do to get things set up for tomorrow, and those brownies weren't on the list. You want to order a pizza for tonight?"
"Kate, Thanksgiving Eve is the biggest night of the year for pizza delivery. We can't just follow the crowd. How about Chinese? If you want something to get your teeth into, we can get an order of spareribs."
"Throw in some moo shu pork, and you've got a deal."
Pulled from a deep sleep by the emergency alert from her phone, Kate fumbles for it in the dark. Rather than Montgomery's voice, she hears an automated message: "Report for duty immediately."
Rick turns over sleepily. "What's going on?"
"I don't know, but I've got to go. It's four o'clock, Babe. Go back to sleep. I'll let you know what's up as soon as I can."
Cops are milling around the bullpen at the 12th, waiting for an announcement, when Kate arrives. Montgomery rushes in ten minutes later. Not bothering to shed his coat, he calls for attention. "We have a problem, people. We don't know who might be involved, but at this time, we're assuming terrorism."
What happened, Captain?" Ryan asks.
Less than an hour ago, two floats undergoing final prep for the parade exploded. So far, we have six dead and a lot more injuries. We're facing a huge challenge, people. The area around the floats and the parade route is being cleared. As you know, we're talking about a stretch from upper Central Park West to Herald Square, and people were camped out, with a lot more on the way. We've already called for help from the feds, but it won't be enough. Everything planned to be in the parade will have to be checked. Everyone associated with the parade will have to be interviewed. Paterson is waking up the governors of New Jersey and Connecticut to see if we can get some help from them. He's also declared an emergency so we can use the National Guard. On one of the busiest travel days of the year, parts of this city will essentially be on lockdown. The Central Park Precinct will be taking point, but we'll be needed for interviews and traffic control. I'll be assigning a lead to each section. For most of you, that will be your sergeant or lieutenant. Beckett, you'll take the bullpen. I want the leads in the conference room in ten minutes.
When Kate calls, Castle picks up on the first ring. "I couldn't go back to sleep. The explosion's all over Twitter, with posts about everything from terrorists to an alien invasion. Nothing's on T.V. except a report of exploding floats and an admonition to stay-tuned for more information. What's going on, Kate?"
"I don't know much more than you do, Babe, except that every cop in this city is being scrambled. We may know something when we get a report from B.D.U., but I don't know how long that will take."
"How can I help?"
"I don't know that either, Babe. Answering phones, interviews, maybe. Right now, Montgomery's just talking cops. You're a civilian, one who's supposed to be feeding a lot of hungry people today. That could still be as important as anything we do here. But I'll stay in touch as much as I can."
The morgue is the last place Lanie had expected to be that morning. If she couldn't get on a plane, she'd hoped to sleep in a little and watch the parade. Even though she long ago abandoned her own dance ambitions, she loves watching the Broadway musical performances that enliven the holiday extravaganza.
There won't be a parade this year, except for the parade of bodies. The one on her table is a mess. He'd been close to the explosion. From the brief report she's received, he'd been working on an animation system. The shrapnel embedded in his skin must be pieces of it. Lanie will have to save them for the reconstruction of the blast. Now she has to figure out which if any of them killed him. It could just as easily have been the concussion. Damn! She hasn't had a chance to call her folks yet. It's an hour earlier for them, but her dad is an early riser. He always has been. And her mom will be in the kitchen soon. Better to call before making her first incision. It's going to be a long day.
Rick's never been more glad that the location Mark found for the Pumpkin Castle is in lower Manhattan, nowhere near anything having to do with the parade. Traffic flows freely, even sparsely, on his short drive to get there. As Kate pointed out, it's as good a place for him to be as any, until Montgomery starts pulling civilians into service, and maybe even then. As far as Kate can determine, neither the N.Y.P.D. nor the various federal agencies have figured out what happened yet, and no terrorist group has claimed responsibility. That hasn't stopped the news media, especially the outlets on the fringes, from conjuring up theories. The explosions could have been some horrible accident, but to Rick, an accident involving two at the same time seems unlikely. In murder investigations, coincidence rarely rears its head.
Mark's already at the restaurant. Where else would he be? The cooking prep and baking are in full swing. Two of the writer regulars are on site. Rick will be putting up Thanksgiving decorations acquired explicitly for the fest and helping to set up serving stations. He crosses his fingers, hoping that they won't go unused.
Lanie photographs every piece of metal and melted plastic she removes from the man on her table, and checks for serial numbers or anything else she can use to determine their origin. So far, the shapes seem random, but there's something about the plastic that rings a bell. She's seen fragments like that before. Right, it was in a victim too close to an exploding computer – and there were no terrorists involved.