Game, Set and Match

By

UCSBdad

Disclaimer: I'm not playing here. I don't own Castle. Rating: M Time: Season seven.

"Pardon?"

"Detective Beckett, my sister was the exact opposite of a gracious winner, and she was much, much worse when she lost. When she was twelve, she lost a match to some girl who was a couple of years older than her. When Marti got home, she used her tennis racquet to smash everything in her room."

"Is there anyone in particular who stands out?"

Marie Henderson thought for a moment. "My parents took me to England once to watch Marti play. They didn't feel I should be deprived of watching her. The Australian, Carole Masters, said she'd kill her at some bar. And Noah Fairgood beat her once, not in a match, of course. She did something to get back at him and he said he'd kill her."

"Thank you, Mrs. Henderson. Have a nice day."

When they got to the elevator, Castle stopped her. "Why didn't you say anything? You do know someone who's famous, after all."

Kate smiled at him. "Oh, Castle. The poor woman has been miserable all her life living in the shadow of her famous sister. Did you want me to make her even more miserable by telling her I'm married to the famous, handsome, charming and very sexy Richard Castle?"

"You're just saying that to make me feel better, aren't you?"

"Of course."

"Keep it up. I like it."

She laughed and kissed him.

"She's still my number one suspect on this, though."

"Castle, I'm sure she has an ironclad alibi. She was in Chicago according to the old file."

"But that was back before you had to show ID to get on a plane. She flies to New York, kills her sister and flies back."

Kate just laughed.

Back at the precinct, they had two pieces of news.

"I talked to a man at American Tennis Magazine." Ryan said. "He says the word is that the mystery tennis player had to have been a guy named Jerry Johnson. He was a Black kid, playing for a small Black college in the South. He was a fantastic tennis player, but no one knew about him because Black people hardly played tennis in those days, at least not against whites. It was pretty much Arthur Ashe and no one else. But, he has an office in Manhattan now. Do you want to do the honors?"

"I don't know. Castle is all hot to check the alibi of his number one suspect."

"You have a number one suspect already?" Lanie said, coming up behind the detectives.

Kate told them of Castle's hurt feelings over Marie Henderson's dislike of famous people. "I told him that I could hardly tell the poor woman that I was married to the famous, handsome, charming and very sexy Rick Castle without hurting her feelings."

"You just said that to make him feel better, right?"

"Of course."

"Well, keep saying things like that. He needs to hear it."

"Lanie!" Rick cried. "I'm standing right here."

"I know. I just wanted you to know we made a positive ID based on dental records that were in the old file. It's Marti Nimes, all right."

Kate turned to Rick. "You want to go meet a famous tennis player, babe?"

"As long as he likes famous people."

"This is our day to meet the good and great in New York." Castle said, admiring the spacious office of Jerry Johnson. " More traditional that Hendricks and Rice, with lots of dark wood, beige carpets and the paintings were all sports themed.

Rick was interrupted by Johnson's secretary. "Mr. Johnson can see you now. Please go right in."

Jerry Johnson was a tall lanky African American who looked like he could still play, but the expression on his face was anything but playful.

"These are my attorneys, Mr. Greg and Mr. Fine." Johnson said.

"Calling for attorneys already?" Castle said, drawing a glare from Kate.

"Mr. Johnson is major brand in the tennis world, Detective. We're here to make sure his interests are protected. It's not like the police never make mistakes." One lawyer said.

The other one continued. "The police also use the term "Person of interest" which has no legal meaning, but which the public equates with being a suspect."

"We have no interest in harming Mr. Johnson in any way." Kate said. "But we do need to ask him some questions."

"I know what you're going to ask. So, no I was not the mystery player that Barnes had lined up to play Marti Nimes. I was unknown then. I was a Black kid, playing at a little known Black college, playing against mostly other Black athletes. Although Black is not the word a lot of white tennis players used to describe me. And, no, I can't prove any of this. It was summer, I was out of school and was with my grandma, now deceased, in rural North Carolina. I did meet Jimmy Barnes, but that was in LA in 1978 after I placed fourth at the US Open in men's singles and came within one bad call of winning the mixed doubles. I spent maybe a minute talking to him. Now if that's all you want, I need to do some work."

"There is one thing." Kate said quickly. "Can you think of anyone else that might have been Barnes' mystery player?"

Johnson thought for a minute. "There was an Australian. Ian Carter. He hit the ball harder than anyone in tennis and with great accuracy, but he was a drinker. He was in Australia fighting a drunk driving charge if I recall correctly at the time. He never was as good as his talent could have made him because of his alcohol and drug use. And he died several years ago."

"We've talked to a number of people about Marti Nimes. No one seems to have liked her. Do you know of anyone who might have wanted to hurt her?"

Johnson shrugged. "She was gone by the time I was playing with the people who'd known her. No one seemed to like her, but I don't know of any reason anyone would want to kill her."

Kate smiled. "Thank you, Mr. Johnson."

"He's not our killer." Castle said.

"No, he isn't."

Castle looked at his wife as they waited for the elevator. "Aren't you going to ask me how I know?"

"Easy. Spidey sense." She teased.

He laughed. "And you know because…."

"If he was the mystery player, he had no reason to kill her. Even if he'd gotten beaten, he would have been on national TV and unless he fell apart completely, he would have played well. He wouldn't have been an unknown anymore. He'd have been famous."

"My Spidey sense is more reliable."

Back at the precinct, Ryan had news for them. "We've tracked down the two tennis players who threatened to kill Marti Nimes. We can go see them tomorrow. Carole Masters lives in northern New Jersey and Noah Fairgood lives in Connecticut. Which to you want?"

"I've always liked Connecticut. You can have New Jersey."

The next day, as Esposito drove through northern New Jersey, Ryan look at the houses they passed with envy. "Now these are the kinds of houses I'd love to live in."

Espo laughed. "Sure. Just what you and the family need. An eight bedroom, seven bath house sitting on five acres. Oh, wait. I think that one only has a six car garage. That'll never do for you."

"Hey, laugh all you want. At least I have a dream of getting something better than the little place we're crammed into now."

"Dream on. Do you know how hard you have to work to get one of these places? This Aussie chick we're visiting probably started training when she was still in diapers. She spent her high school and college days going from one match to the next and practicing in between. Then, boom! She's pushing thirty and she's over the hill as an athlete. Now she's in her sixties and probably sits around in her big house all day and wonders if it was all worth it. I'd say it wasn't."

"Yeah, but…." Ryan began.

"Hey, this is it."

Carole Masters may have been in her sixties, but she looked like she was in her thirties. Her legs, visible thanks to a pair of very tight running shorts, we're long and supple. Her bare midriff was tanned and toned. Her boobs were firm and round. So firm and round as to be obvious fakes and her face was smooth and unlined.

"Good day to you, detectives. Please come in. Here, sit on the sofa with me."

Ryan quickly noticed that the couch was only big enough for the three of them to sit very close together and there was no place else to sit in the room. As Espo began explaining the reason for their call, Masters' hand landed on Ryan's thigh and began to move north. He quickly removed her hand, being careful to use his left hand to show his wedding ring. He also saw that Espo was also being groped.

"Oh, dear." She interrupted. "What kind of a hostess am I? I know you gentlemen can't drink alcohol on duty, but I have some lovely fruit juice for you. Would you please assist me on the kitchen, Detective Esposito?"

"Please call me Javi." He said, standing.

Ryan sat and waited for five minutes. He could hear the two of them laughing in the kitchen. Eventually, they came back out with three glasses of fruit juice.

"If we could get back to our reason for coming here?" Ryan asked.

"Oh, certainly, dear. You want to know about the time I threatened to kill that awful Marti Nimes. She had just beaten me at a match in Atlanta and we were all at the bar of the tennis club there and Marti was describing in great detail her victory over me. And she made me look like the biggest buffoon to ever play tennis. She went on and on about how bad my footwork was, and how I had no idea how to serve, and how dreadful my lob was, and….She just went on and on and when she was through describing our match, she went on about how I had been so lucky to win the prior days match and she began to go over everything she thought I'd done wrong. I'm sure she would have gone on all night about me. So, I walked over to her, threw a drink in her face and told her if she ever said another word about me, I'd kill her. Then I left." She paused for a second. "But I did not kill her."

"Ms. Nimes was last seen on July second, 1976 at about four in the afternoon. Can you tell us where you were from then until July fourth?"

"I certainly can. I looked up my old schedule. I arrived in Sydney, Australia, at about ten o'clock in the morning on July the second. Because of the International Date Line, that would have been July the first in the US and didn't leave until the eighth of July. You can check, you know."

"Can you think of anyone who'd want to kill Ms. Nimes?"

"Anyone who ever knew her, I suppose."

Ryan closed his notebook. "Thank you for your time. We have to be going now."

"That was a waste of time." Ryan said once they were back in the car, headed for Manhattan.

"Maybe for you, bro, but not for me. I have me a date this weekend."

"With her? Javi, she's old enough to be your mother."

"Maybe, but she sure as hell doesn't look like my mother."

"You know she's had massive amounts of work done to look that good at her age."

Esposito shrugged. "Maybe, but none of the scars show."

"None of the…You looked?"

"You know, you're right, bro. I'd love to live in a house like these. Or at least wake up once or twice in one."

Ryan said nothing all the way back to the city.