Flu
Chapter 65
Frees spots the blue and white at the curb outside his apartment building. It could be there for any of the tenants, but the clenching in his gut tells him it's there for him. He can't go back to his place or anywhere the police can track him. That leaves one option, his off-the-grid cabin. It isn't really his, so the police won't find it in his name. It's listed under a trust in the name of Frees' uncle, Clae, who passed away six months before. Clae, a hunting enthusiast, took his gun-loving nephew Holland under his wing. Frees could always use the cabin whenever he wanted. He even has things there. He can go to ground and return to the city tomorrow to take out Beckett and her shadow. That will derail or at least slow down any investigation of him, or at least he hopes so.
"C.S.U. is finished at Frees' apartment," Kate announces as she picks up Rick at the Pumpkin Palace. "We can go back and continue our search. Did you and Mark make any progress working out your plan for after the holidays?"
"Some." Rick strokes the stubble emerging on his jawline. "He seemed distracted, especially when I mentioned Christmas. It's not like him."
"Did he look distracted upset, or distracted happy?" Kate asks.
"Hard to tell. I think a little of both."
Kate nods knowingly. "I've seen that kind of look on some boys I went to school with and a couple of guys in the bullpen. Generally, it was before they proposed to someone."
"You think Mark is going to propose to Holly?"
"Unless there's a girlfriend that we don't know about, and if there is, he's a total jerk."
"Come to think of it, he gets that queasy look every time she mentions her concert at Carnegie Hall. That's probably when he's going to take his shot," Rick guesses. "I wish him luck. Aside from being far and away the best violin teacher Alexis has ever had, Holly's quite a woman."
"She is," Kate agrees. "And I wish him luck too, but for your sake, right now, I want him to do his job."
"He is doing it," Castle assures her. "The Pumpkin Palace would fall like a house of cards without him." Rick points to a building ahead on the right. "Hmm, you made great time. Things look quiet."
Kate's lips press together in a tight line. "Yeah, that's the problem. I'm afraid we scared Frees off. There's no record of any other current residence for him. I have a watch on his accounts in case he checks into a hotel or something, but so far, there hasn't been any activity."
"Maybe he has something stowed away in there that will help us figure out where he went. And shouldn't we question Heitner?"
"He called in sick with the flu, and if we question him now, it will just put him on his guard. I have a unit watching his place," Kate continues. "It looks like he actually is sick."
I can't think of anyone who deserves it more, except maybe for Frees," Rick remarks. "Maybe he's curled up under a pile of blankets somewhere too."
Kate shakes her head. "He could be, but sick or not, that gets us no closer to bringing him in."
Rick pulls out each volume in Free's heavy oak bookcase and flips through the pages. What are you looking for, Babe?" Kate queries.
"I have no idea," Rick admits. "But books are a favored hiding place, at least in novels and movies." He selects a thick reference on trees of New York. A photograph slips from the dust jacket. "Kate, you have to see this! The kid in this snapshot looks like he might be a pre-pubescent Frees. He's got the crazy eyes. And there's an older man with an arm around him." Rick turns the picture over. "This says, 'Me and Uncle Clae.' It looks like a kid's handwriting. Frees might have actually liked the guy. They're surrounded by woods, and the book is about trees. Maybe this Uncle Clae has a place in the forest somewhere."
"Or had one. It's a really old picture, Babe," Kate points out. "Clae could have moved or died by now."
"If he did, there would be a record of it. Frees isn't exactly Smith or Jones. And even if Clae's from the other side of the family, it's not that common a first name, not with that spelling. If Holland Frees is a chip off the old block, Clae might have been into hunting or at least enjoying the great outdoors." Rick pulls out his phone. "Let's see what a quick google will yield. Hmm. There's a book called 'Woodland Survival,' by a Clae Bakker. It was first published by S&S in 1980 but went out of print when the survivalist wave ebbed. Jake and Eber picked it up in late 2001. As I recall, there was a boom in survivalist manuals after 9/11."
"Nothing like protecting your own ass," Kate comments.
"Ever popular," Rick agrees. "But it's just common sense to be prepared for a zombie apocalypse. What if the flu had been a zombie virus? I was ready. But anyway, I'm looking for a Clae Bakker bio or something. Oh. I found an obituary. Private services were held outside a cabin in the woods on his estate before he was buried there. And it says that he left a nephew, Holland Frees. If I were a murderous wood-loving nutcase, where would I run?"
"To Uncle Clae's cabin. Does the obit list the location?"
"No, but given a name like Clae Bakker, it shouldn't take long to do a property search."
The bottle of ibuprofen Frees finds while rifling around in the first aid kit at the cabin is expired. He downs four pills anyway and starts arranging split logs and kindling in the fireplace. A small pile of wood is stacked against the wall not far from the hearth. Frees knows it won't last long. He'll have to swing an ax if he wants to stay warm. Right now, he can barely lift the logs, but the medicine may help. It better help. The flu is bad enough without freezing to death. F*** Heitner! He's managed to screw up everything.
Rick taps on the screen of the G.P.S. "There's a turn in about 500 feet."
Kate approaches a narrow, roughly surfaced road and follows it, with units trailing behind her. "How far to the cabin?"
"It's about 2 miles until the road ends, but the cabin is a few hundred feet beyond that."
"That could be a break for us," Kate considers. "If our vehicles all come in on this road, Frees will hear the engines. He might even open fire. We'll have a better chance on foot. We should stage a half-mile before the road ends to make sure he can't see the vehicles.
"We should have brought camo," Castle worries. "If this guy can home in on deer in the dappled light of a forest glen, he can spot a bunch of cops."
"Sh*t! Your vest was in the trunk of my unit when I dropped it off, wasn't it?" Kate asks.
"Yeah, it was," Rick confirms. "But hey, I still have my official consultant I.D. Can I wear N.Y.P.D? issue?"
"I was thinking it might be better if you stayed in the car."
"No way. Haven't you ever seen a horror movie? The person left behind for safety gets attacked by the monster. Frees could hurl himself from any treetop. I'm going with you, Kate."
Kate sighs. "All right. I'll get you a cop vest. But keep back. I'm not ready to be a widow."
"Believe me," Rick asserts, "I'm not planning to make you one."