"Detective Lassiter!"
Carlton looks up. Chief Vick is approaching, arms full of files. She drops them on his desk with an 'oof' and stands straighter, rubbing her lower back.
"Call Mr. Spencer," she instructs, " and get these in order. We're meeting in the conference room in an hour. I have news."
Carlton rolls his eyes so hard his head moves. "Chief, do we have to-"
"Yes," Vick snaps. "Call him and get him here. Within the hour, Carlton."
"Uggghhh," Carlton complains aloud, but he reaches for his phone. When Spencer answers, he orders "Be at the station in fifteen minutes and do not be late" and hangs up.
Thirty seconds later, his phone buzzes. It's a text from Spencer.
Poor Lassie. U snd strsd! Need msg? 3 3 3
Msg? Message? Massage. Carlton feels his face heat up, and he fumbles for the Delete button. "Idiot," he mumbles, and he feels like he always does when Spencer sends him a message like that (or crawls on his lap, or gropes him in full view of the entire precinct, or does something else that's grossly inappropriate): flustered and confused and a little bit aroused. It infuriates him he responds like that to Spencer's overtures, especially when he knows full well that Spencer doesn't mean a word of it.
Carlton begins to shuffle through the files Vick dropped on his desk. Rationalizes. It's purely physical. Biological. He hasn't gotten laid in...oh God. Has it been a year since he met up with Gabriel and drank too much whiskey?
He tries and fails to push the thought back down. It makes him feel dizzy and nauseated: he doesn't remember much of that night, but he remembers the morning after with horrible clarity. Ten years of doing everything he could to make himself normal, and it all went to hell after three drinks with an old flame.
And now here's Spencer, crawling under his skin, unearthing feelings better left buried.
"You don't look so good."
Carlton jumps. "What do you want?"
O'Hara looks affronted. "Sorry," she says crossly. "Here."
She sets a large coffee on Carlton's desk and walks away.
He feels immediately guilty. O'Hara might be pushy, but she means well, and she did just bring him coffee. "O'Hara," he says.
She turns, lips pursed primly to indicate her displeasure.
"Sorry," he says.
The lips un-purse almost immediately and she's back at his side. "That's okay," she says. "I was just wondering because you looked kind of sick or mad or something. And I-"
He interrupts her. "O'Hara!"
Unfazed: "Yeah?"
Carlton sinks his teeth into his tongue to prevent a surly retort. "I'm feeling fine," he grits out.
"Oh, okay, good, because Chief Vick-"
"Wants to meet in an hour, I know." He picks the pile of folders up and thrusts them at her. "Organize these, will you?"
Carlton hears the commotion from outside the conference room, which can only mean one thing. Spencer is here.
He reaches over and cracks the blinds and sure enough, there's Spencer, spinning like a dervish and ricocheting wildly from one side of the room to the other. He takes a few giant, lurching steps toward the conference room, Guster on his heels, and falls through the door.
"Sweet, sweet, sweet, sweet, sweet, sweet," he's chanting. He reaches for O'Hara, who's followed Guster into the conference room, and brushes his hands over her face. He stops momentarily, regards her. "Sweet, but no dice," he says, and then resumes his lunatic staggering.
"Chief-" Carlton starts to say, but Vick, eyes on Spencer, holds up a hand to silence him.
Carlton tenses when Spencer careens toward him, but Spencer just glances up at him-flash of cautious hazel-then darts away again. Suddenly he reaches for Guster's messenger bag.
"Hey!" Guster protests, but Spencer's hands are already in the bag.
"Sweet!" he says triumphantly, pulling out a package of Red Vines.
"Candy?" O'Hara guesses.
"Sugar! Eating so many Red Vines...you have to be careful, you can't eat too much, you might get sick. Sick and sweet..." Spencer shoves a fistful of Red Vines into his mouth.
"Food poisoning!" Vick says.
"No!" Spencer tries to talk around the mouthful of candy. "'Onger 'an 'at. 'Ears n 'ears n 'ears."
"Years?" Guster says.
There's a long pause as Shawn chews, swallows, and coughs. Guster reaches over to pound him on the back, and he falls into a chair. "Yes," he says, "years and years, it makes you so weak, and my feet! My feet are...numb!"
"Diabetes!" O'Hara exclaims, and looks delighted when Spencer points at her.
"Yes!" he cries. "Diabetes! I sense that our victim was taking insulin."
Vick picks up the dossier on Xavier and taps the autopsy report. "He had diabetes," she says, "but he got stabbed, Mr. Spencer. What does that have to do with the murder?"
"I sense-" Spencer's hand hovers at his temple. "I sense that there was something wrong with his insulin! His blood sugar was high and he was-" he sags backwards-"so...weak..."
"Chief." Carlton is simultaneously disgusted and embarrassed by Spencer's display. "We're not going to-"
"Shut up, Detective," Vick says sharply. "Go on, Mr. Spencer."
"It was replaced by something." Spencer waves both hands in the air. "I see a label...a medication label! An H...and an E..."
O'Hara scrambles for a pen. "Keep going," she encourages, scrawling the letters on her notepad.
"P..." Spencer shuts his eyes as though in pain. "I can't see it...it's too shadowy..." He rolls his chair over to Carlton and plants both hands firmly on Carlton's stomach.
Carlton leaps backwards so fast he almost falls over one of the other chairs. He sucks air. "Chief!" he complains.
She ignores him, watching Spencer, who is now clutching his head.
"A..." he gasps. "R, I, N."
"Heparin," O'Hara reads.
"Heparin!" Spencer howls. "He was being dosed with heparin!" His eyes fly open.
"It would have been easy to overpower him if he was weak because of high blood sugar," Vick says thoughtfully. "Mr. Guster, can you tell us what heparin does?"
"It's an injectable anticoagulant," Guster says immediately. "A glycosaminoglycan, if we're being scientific."
"We aren't," Vick says. "In English, please, Mr. Guster."
"A blood thinner," Guster explains. "Keeps you from clotting."
Spencer jumps out of his chair, lurches toward Carlton, and seizes Carlton's pen from his jacket pocket. His eyes bulge as he makes stabbing motions in midair. "Ree ree ree ree ree."
"Shawn. It's not the time for Psycho," Guster says.
"The stab wounds!" Shawn points the pen at Vick. "They didn't hit any major organs. They didn't have to. His blood was like Sprite...full of sugar...and clotted about as well." He exhales and collapses into a chair, eyes closed.
"Where...did he get...the insulin?" he gasps.
Vick is focused on the dossier. "He's right," she says. "The stab wounds didn't hit any major organs." She shuts the file. "O'Hara."
"Yes, Chief." O'Hara stands a little straighter.
"Get to the pharmacy where Victor filled that insulin prescription. Interview all the pharmacists. Detective Lassiter!"
Carlton snaps to attention. He realizes he'd been watching Spencer, who is still sprawled in the chair. Spencer opens his eyes when he hears Carlton's name.
Carlton looks away from Spencer. "Yes, Chief."
"We've found Rebecca Xavier. The Boston PD has kindly agreed to cooperate with our investigation. You're going to fly out and interview her." Vick hands him a printed boarding pass. "Tomorrow."
"What?" Carlton is stunned. "Chief, I really think I'd be more useful here-"
"We need to find out her connection to the sideshow, if any," Vick says, interrupting him. "Looks like she's the sole beneficiary of his estate and life insurance." She pauses. "Furthermore, as Detective O'Hara is going to be tied up interviewing pharmacists, I think it would be most beneficial if Mr. Spencer and Mr. Guster went with you."
"What? Chief, that's the worst idea in-" He stops when he sees the look on Vick's face. Boston? With Spencer? He'll either die of annoyance or of sexual frustration.
Knowing Spencer, probably the former.
Guster raises a hand. "Um, Chief? Tomorrow is Thursday."
Vick gives Guster a dangerous look. "I'm aware of that, Mr. Guster."
Guster clears his throat. "Well, as you may or may not also be aware of-"
"Ending a sentence with a preposition," Spencer mumbles under his breath.
"I know, Shawn," Guster says irritably. "Anyway, Chief, the thing of which you may or may not be aware is that I have this job, see-I can't really-"
"Very well." Vick doesn't seem to be fazed by Guster's rambling at all. "You stay here. Mr. Spencer, you'll go with Detective Lassiter to Boston. The flight is at eight in the morning." She looks at Spencer sharply. "See that you don't miss it."
Spencer grins. "Not for the world," he says.