Flu
Chapter 111
"Your client keeps insisting that he needs his medicine, but he won't tell our medic what it is. He'll only talk to you," Kate informs Lachlan Russell, attorney-at-law. "We attempted to explain to him that any medical communications are as privileged as those he has with a lawyer, but he wanted nothing to do with a doctor. And Mr. Russell, from the materials found in Mr. Jasper's apartment, C.S.U. believes he may have been self-medicating."
"Street drugs?" Russell inquires.
Kate shakes her head. "Nothing any pusher we've ever seen sells. I assume that Mr. Douglas will be turning over the details to you as part of discovery, but Mr. Russell, the sooner you talk to your client, the better."
Lachlan does his best to keep his voice even and his eyebrows from shooting to his hairline. "You've been desiccating animal glands to treat yourself?"
Merlin presses the heels of his hands to his temples. "I had no choice. I need what's in my apartment."
"It's probably in the crime lab now. Mr. Jasper, I'll try to get you whatever help you need, but you're going to have to tell me the whole story," Russell urges, "particularly if your medical difficulties have anything to do with the deaths of those two boys."
Merlin grabs for Lachlan's hand. "And then you can get me my glands?"
"I'll do the best I can," Lachlan promises.
Lanie closes her eyes, savoring the sweetness of the Jamba Juice Rick brought. "Kate, I spoke with Osnitz about the anomaly in Merlin Jasper's D.N.A. It turns out it isn't that much of an anomaly anymore. Repeats and deletions in that area are linked to several glandular disorders. The thing is, in Merlin Jasper's case, an effective treatment was approved a few years ago, a synthetic hormone he could take as a pill. If he'd listened to a real doctor, he would be fine."
"So, the pills weren't around in time to keep Merlin from killing Larry Rosencrantz, but Chris might still be alive if Merlin had taken them," Kate realizes.
"That's about it," Lanie confirms.
"And New Yorkers would have more furry friends," Rick adds.
"You know," Rick mulls as he settles into his chair next to Kate's desk, "this case embodies a much deeper irony than capture by stealth parking sticker. Merlin Jasper made a career and a respectable fortune out of researching trends and technical developments. Yet, he missed the one that would have changed his life and saved Chris's."
"He couldn't see a new solution because he convinced himself that his old way was the only one that could work," Kate adds. "I've known some cops like that. They get stuck in a rut and refuse to learn about new methods and technologies. If they kept up, we might have a lot fewer cold cases to solve. Chertov can take care of tying up Chris's case, but we need to write up Larry Rosencrantz."
"Do you think Jasper will go to trial?" Rick wonders.
"I doubt it. Lachlan Russell is a good lawyer. Given the strength of the evidence against Jasper and the amount of disgust it would engender in a jury, he'll probably convince Merlin to take a plea. He'd most likely add a condition that Jasper continues receiving appropriate treatment."
"The windup of this case is strangely unsatisfying," Rick remarks. "It seems like the killer will get more out of what we've discovered than the families of the victims will."
"It happens that way sometimes," Kate allows, "maybe too often. But Merlin Jasper won't ever have a chance to kill again. That's good for all of us." She pats her belly. "Especially the next generation."
It seemed for a while that a storm would scuttle the Castle family retreat to the Hamptons over Memorial Day weekend. But the system took an unexpected turn out to sea, leaving the ocean choppy but the skies clear.
Kate doesn't have to worry about braving waves. She's enjoying the weightlessness of floating in the pool. The scent of grilling meat wafts to her nostrils. Rick is in his element. He painstakingly made hamburger patties with his personal blend of seasonings. Alexis put sweet and smoky baked beans in the oven overnight to go with them. Kate and Martha threw together salads, and Martha drove into the village to pick up cupcakes and pie. Given the nature of the occasion, a certain amount of introspection and even a little prayer will accompany the celebration. Still, the weekend is a welcome respite from the investigations of lives prematurely snuffed out for neither flag nor country.
From the gate to the pool enclosure, Alexis yells to Kate. "Dad sent me to get you. He's pulling the burgers off the grill now."
Kate paddles toward the ladder from the water. "I'll be right there."
From a surveillance nest he'd established when there was an actual threat to his family, Jack observes the gathering, his eyes drawn to Martha. He can't deny that the years have made their mark on both of them. For him, it's not only the shock of white hair that still shocks him when he looks in a mirror. It's the slowing of reflexes, the fraction of a second that can make all the difference in the field. Assets in his line of work don't usually live long enough for aging to become a problem, but somehow he has. While he's long passed official retirement age, actual retirement usually occurs when one is six feet under. He'll be active, or at least on call, until the final bell tolls.
When Martha leaves the family feast for a walk on the beach, Jack decides to follow her. He doesn't need to get too close; just make sure no one bothers her. Uh-huh. As if the quintessential Manhattanite can't take care of herself. She's managed without him for a hell of a long time. Still, he takes some pleasure in the fantasy that he could be useful to her.
By habit, he scans the rest of the population of the beach. It isn't large. While the public isn't excluded from the white sands fronting the weekend homes, the area has no concessions or restrooms for visitors. Most find tourist-friendly spots more accommodating.
The outline of a figure ahead strikes a clashing chord in Jack's brain. The slightly hunched posture, the result of a previous interaction, is distinctive, even at a distance. It's Maksim Agapov, occasional intelligence gatherer and all-around assassin. What the hell is he doing here? It's as nice a place as any for a vacation, but men like him don't take vacations.
At least Maksim is paying no attention to Martha. In fact, he's paying no attention to anyone with their feet on land. The Russian's gaze is directed toward a boat offshore. It's too far away for Jack to make out a designation without a scope, but he can track it if he returns to his nest. The question is, does the boat carry Agopov's support or his intended victims. Jack's inclined to go with the second option. Casting a last glance at Martha, he retraces his steps to leave the beach.
Martha watches Jack retreat. Did he really think she didn't know he was there? After all her years on the stage, sensing rather than seeing a fellow player make an entrance, she has a pretty good feel for when someone's behind her. Whether on stage or not, as a woman in New York, she's always had to be alert for such things. Richard isn't the only one who carries pepper spray. She does, and so does Alexis. And they both know how to use it. And as an actor, Martha is no amateur at understanding the subtleties of body language. Jack may have come to the beach to watch her, but he definitely had something else on his mind when he left.