Flu
Chapter 77
"What's that?" Rick inquires, using tongs to transfer strips of hot bacon to a paper towel.
Reacting to the alert resounding through the kitchen, Kate digs in the pocket of her slacks for her phone. "It's a text from Alexis. She says the lab ran Mila Lolitavitch's D.N.A. overnight. It's a maternal match to Gina Gompers. Carl Osnitz will be emailing the formal report to me this morning."
Rick sighs, leaning on the counter. "That is sadly what we expected. Are you going to call Mila?"
"I thought it would be better to tell her in person. She should be home this morning. She lives in the East Village."
"She must have bought her place there before the prices went through the roof," Rick assumes, "as I did with this loft. With the uncertainty about her daughter clawing at her, I doubt she's sleeping late, if at all."
"I doubt it too," Kate agrees, "but just in case, I don't want our visit to disturb her too early. If she's going to cope with the final arrangements for what's left of Gina, she'll have one hell of a week."
"I can't even imagine it," Rick admits. "If I had to do that for Alexis… Ugh, suddenly I'm not hungry anymore."
Kate pushes away the fresh fruit she'd been nibbling. "Neither am I."
Alexis knocks on the doorframe of Chief Osnitz's open office. "I finished the extractions. Detective Beckett and my father told me they suspect the cords belong to more than one killer. On visual inspection, the strips had different profiles. Do you want me to go ahead and shoot the extracts?"
"You can start on that for now," her boss instructs, "but if we get any more D.N.A. samples in today, I want you to shadow Myron while he processes them. You've already dug into genealogical tracing. It would be good for you to learn the identification procedures from start to finish. You'll have more of an understanding of how errors can creep into the process that way."
The teen's pale eyebrows rise. "Do you believe the lab is making identification errors?"
Osnitz waves a hand dismissively. "Of course not! But hotshot defense attorneys grasp for any straws they can. I want a fresh set of eyes to spot vulnerabilities that techs accustomed to our protocols might not consider. That way, we can anticipate any questions which arise and more effectively defend our work against lawyers' crazy accusations in court. Can you do that?"
"You can count on me, Chief," Alexis declares.
The tech smiles approvingly. "I'm sure I can, Alexis."
Descending the aging stairs from Mila Lolitavitch's apartment, Rick shakes his head. "That was rough. She must have spent the entire night clinging to a ray of hope that Gina is still alive somewhere. It was kind of you to give her your private number."
"There wasn't much else I could do."
Rick reaches for Kate's hand. "When I mentioned Mila's glowing review to Mother, she swore the theater community would wrap their arms around her, the way that they did when Gina first disappeared. I've seen that kind of backstage love. Mila won't be alone, Kate, any more than the family of a slain cop would be. I take some comfort in that. You should too."
As they reach the sidewalk, Kate drops her head to his shoulder, leaning into his body. "I take some in this."
As Christmas approaches, the weather predictions are still unsettled. Shoppers who usually prefer last-minute purchases flood the stores, and food is disappearing from grocery shelves.
It's December 24th as Rick gazes around the loft. All the garlands and wreaths are up with no complaints from Alexis about asymmetry. Lights twinkle softly but not invasively. Gifts overflow from under the towering tree, ringed by a train he bought when Alexis was six.
The stockings are empty; their contents secreted away by Santa's surrogates until Christmas morning. Rick's cookie supply could be more extravagant. As expected, Alexis' lab work has sucked greedily at her time. Between accompanying Kate on her most soul-searing of duties, keeping an eye on the Pumpkin Palace, and meeting his obligations to Black Pawn, he's filled no tins since the family baking effort.
It's not too late. He and Kate worked through the last matches for Frees and Heitner and laid the evidence, particularly against Heitner, at Eli Douglas' doorstep. She, and therefore he, have Christmas off, God and Roy Montgomery willing. They're attending Holly's concert tonight, but they may be able to fit in some kitchen high jinks during the next few hours. High jinks of other sorts aren't out of the question either.
At Rick's popup, Chef shoves the last batch of chili-filled pumpkins into the oven. "That should do it for an early closing. We have the pie orders ready for pick up and Busby did mise en place for all the standard menu items."
"Mmm," Mark nods, "if I start hinting at the regulars to clear their tables at four, we should be able to shut down by five." He feels in his pocket for the box Jacob Ketimer handed him the day before. "That will give any staff who want to see Holly's performance tonight, time to get ready."
"You look pretty worked up for a guy just going to a concert, even if his girlfriend is playing." Chef notes.
"Yeah, well, it's going to be a big night, at least I hope it is," Mark confides.
Alexis points to the center seats in the second row of the Zankel Hall section of the Carnegie complex. Those are ours. Holly's family gets the front row."
"As they should," Rick declares. "They must be very proud of her. I know I am, and I just write her checks every month." He surveys the nearby rows. "Mark must be here somewhere."
"I saw him chugging bottled water near the snack bar. He looked a little jumpy," Kate offers.
"He's been distracted for days," Castle notes. "Maybe all the details of the changeover from the Pumpkin Palace are getting to him."
"Or he could be nervous for Holly," Alexis suggests. "I get the feeling they're pretty close these days. Holly mentions him a lot, even when she's giving me a lesson. Usually, my teachers have only talked about music while we're working. Holly was like that too when I started with her."
"He's smitten," Kate declares.
"Since when does the objective detective use words like smitten?" Rick inquires.
"When she sees someone who can't keep his eyes in his head around a woman," Kate replies.
"Like you are around, Kate, Dad," Alexis inserts. The lights flicker. "We should take our seats. The concert will be starting soon."
Just as the lights go down, Mark feels for the box in his pocket for the tenth time and slides into his seat. Holly is wearing simple concert black, but her red hair shines as does her smile. She'd thought long and hard about her program. She could play Bach, Beethoven, Bruch, or Sebelius. They've all written intricate and demanding pieces. But she wants her audience engaged from the first, not thinking about last-minute holiday details. She needs them dancing in their seats. The father of one of her students agreed to help.
Holly tucks her violin under her chin and begins to play. Mark stares as a man in a Stetson and cowboy boots comes to a microphone beside Holly with three other men as the backup behind him. The hat-wearer speaks the words to "The Devil Went Down to Georgia," with the other men singing backup. As Holly's instrumental electrifies the hall, any shopping-weary audience members who had given a thought to sleeping during the performance, banish the idea from their heads.