Flu
Chapter 61
For a gathering of medical examiners, the mood in the lounge off of the lobby bar in the Forster hotel seems strangely upbeat. "A defense mechanism," Rick muses to himself, "or the bartender has a generous hand." Either way, he can hear laughter from several gatherings.
Bringing up Lorne Faulkner's picture from his LinkedIn page on her phone, Kate scans the room and points to a man sitting near a faux fireplace. "That's him, not Lanie's usual type."
Rick eyes the pathologist in question. He wouldn't describe the man as having more than an average appearance, but then, he has yet to figure out what women see in various men. If Faulkner were wearing a lab coat, he could be a Central Casting image for a medical examiner. Complete with dark-framed glasses and a shirt pocket loaded with a small Fresnel lens and several writing instruments, he fits the archetype to a "T."
Immersed in studying a handout from the day's proceedings, Faulkner looks up as his watch buzzes an alert for his meeting with Lanie's friends. He's enjoyed a couple of Castle's books as restroom reading. At least the man does enough research to avoid any glaring errors in autopsy techniques. That Castle is married to a cop might lose him a point or two. Cops always want answers faster than Lorne can give them with a high degree of confidence. Still, if Lanie likes Kate, that's worth something. Faulkner waves to catch the couple's attention and gestures toward two nearby empty chairs.
The M.E. rushes through introductions, anxious to get down to business. The last thing he wants is to show up late for the first dinner in years he's had with Lanie. "As I understand it, you have a suspect in the case I discussed with Dr. Parish."
"We do," Kate confirms. "But it's complicated."
"He's a cop," Castle inserts, 'the most obnoxious kind."
"He does carry some weight with the department," Kate acknowledges. "And you know how far out of our jurisdiction the crime took place, so we have to move carefully."
"It may not have been as far out of your jurisdiction as you imagine," Lorne suggests, " at least not as the crow flies. I found a strange pattern to the settling of the blood in that poor woman's body, as if she had been transported after death. I wasn't able to pin it down in terms of milage, but the time involved was approximately two hours. The killer could have attacked her in New York and dumped the body where it was found just outside of Allentown. The murderer would have had time to make the drive. It took me an hour and 35 minutes in the other direction."
Kate nibbles on her fingertip. "The perpetrator would have chosen a familiar place."
"Somewhere with good hunting," Rick adds.
"Lehigh County is known for hunting, particularly archery, but also with firearms." Lorne sighs, shaking his head. "Unfortunately, more than one victim of a hunting accident has ended up on my table. At least I was able to identify those. Your murder victim is still a Jane Doe. If she were local, someone should have known who she was. Her picture was out on area T.V. stations and in the newspaper."
"Which wouldn't have helped if she was from here," Kate realizes. "Was there anything else about the body that would have tied her to New York?"
"You know she had no clothes, but our lab was able to analyze her stomach contents. No clanging sirens like poison, but what it found was consistent with tacos, spicy ones. Lehigh county has very few Hispanics. Only a few restaurants sell tacos, and the ones that do mostly pander to more midwestern tastes. It's only a guess, which means it wouldn't hold up in court, but I'd suspect those tacos were New York City Street food."
Heitner stares gritty-eyed at the time displayed on his phone. He slept through most of the day, forcing himself out of bed only long enough to piss, get a bottle of water, and more pills. He has ten voicemails from Holland, who will be really pissed off that Hugh didn't answer them. There's nothing he can say anyway. He managed to croak out a sentence calling into work, but that was all he could accomplish. Sh*t! Bridget McCready's murder is Frees' problem. Heitner's kept tabs on any N.Y.P.D. investigations that might come too close to him. So far, they've been clueless. It's no wonder he's been able to move up so well. He hasn't had much competition. But right now, he doesn't care about anything except trying to go back to sleep. Maybe he'll talk to Frees in the morning.
As Kate and Rick leave the shelter of the revolving door from the lobby of the Forster, a brittle breeze chills the bare skin of their faces. "I need to turn in my unit for maintenance, but I can drop you at home on the way," Kate offers. "I'll take the subway back."
Rick wraps his arm around her shoulders, the warmth of his body mingling with hers. "I have a better idea. You can drop me just long enough for me to get the Mercedes. Then I can pick you up at the garage, and we can both take a trip to the Pumpkin Palace. The chef is doing a tasting for some new menu items. I have to give them my stamp of approval, and I value your opinion. I also texted Mark to make sure the staff put aside a piece of pumpkin chiffon pie for you. The chef is considering chocolate chiffon as a complement."
"What would that have to do with pumpkins?"
"He can pipe a whipped cream outline of one on the pie. I doubt the customers will object."
"Probably not," Kate agrees. "But are we tasting real food or just desserts? I saw a couple of people with Forster's special clubs while we were talking to Lorne Faulkner."
"And they called to you?" Rick wonders.
"Uh-huh."
"I don't think we'll have any club sandwiches on the menu, but the great thing about pumpkins is you can put stuff in them. It's like sticking soup or dip in a hollowed-out bread, except you can bake it all together. Chef's been talking about a line of meals in little pumpkins. Mark said something about pumpkin chili pots, but I suppose anything's possible. I found a sausage and rice recipe online. But if nothing appeals to you, we can always stop at the deli to get you a club."
Kate pulls the belt of her scarlet wrap coat tighter around her waist. "It really got cold. Right now, chili sounds a lot better than a sandwich."
Frees stops just short of tossing his phone against the wall when he gets Heitner's voicemail again. Sonofabitch! They shouldn't be seen together, especially now, but Beckett's investigation could be getting closer every minute. He needs to know what's going on. With the sudden drop in temperature, no one will think twice about seeing a man wrapped up with a scarf covering most of his face. Heitner rarely works late. He should be home by now. Holland can knock and ring the bell until the lazy jerk answers. Then the master hunter will make sure they have a plan to close the book on Beckett and Castle, once and for all.