"Yeah, I remember John," the short, older man behind the counter said. "Nice guy. Don't know why he couldn't be on time more often."
"Did you make these yourself?" Castle wanted to know, picking up another bite-sized, toasty brown roll from the platter on the counter. "They're delicious."
"I did indeed." The man's chest puffed a little with pride. "Fresh every day with my secret sauce. It's pizza without the need for two hands."
"Ingenious!" Castle grinned.
"Mr. Hart," Beckett interrupted. "When Mr. Doe was working for you, did you ever notice anything strange?"
"Other than his habit of being perpetually late? Well now, let me think," the man paused. "I can't say as I ever did, and he never talked about himself much. Although, of course, he didn't work here very long; he was only on the payroll for about a month before I had to let him go. He was a hard worker when he was here, but I can't afford employees who are that constantly tardy."
"Okay, thank you." Beckett handed him her card. "Please call me if you think of anything that might be helpful."
As Beckett and Castle turned towards the exit, a woman stepped out of the kitchen. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to butt in," she apologized, wiping her hands on her apron. "But you're looking for information on John Doe, right? I'm Amanda Adams; I work in the kitchen most afternoons."
"That's right," Beckett replied, turning back to the counter. "Did you know him?"
"I did," she answered slowly, nodding as she brushed several strands of red hair from her face. "Not well, or anything, but I worked with him quite a few shifts while he was here."
Castle leaned forward on the counter and gave her his best smile. "Did he have any problems that you know about? Or did he ever do anything that seemed suspicious to you?"
"Not at first," Amanda began fiddling with a loose string on her apron. "Although … the last week or so before he got let go, he started acting a little … odd."
"Odd?" Beckett repeated.
"Yes, odd. He kept acting kind of nervous, and he kept getting phone calls," she explained. "Which was weird, because none of the other employees ever get any personal calls, and if they do, it's maybe every once in a blue moon. Not like John for sure."
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"Hey, check this out," Esposito said, picking up two sheets from the stacks of papers spread out on his desk. "Doe was making what you'd expect from a guy in a minimum wage job, then a few weeks ago, he started making deposits every week in addition to his paychecks."
Ryan was looking over his partner's shoulder. "And they look like they were pretty substantial, too."
"I'd say six hundred plus is pretty substantial," Esposito nodded. "There's nothing to indicate where he got the money, though; looks like all the deposits were in cash. They continue after he lost his last job, right up to the last one which was made three days ago." He turned to face Ryan. "Anything in his phone records?"
"Maybe," Ryan stepped back over to his own desk where his computer displayed the phone records they had gotten from the phone company. "He only had a few incoming calls each week, mainly from his places of employment. But," he continued, scrolling down the list, "about two months ago, he started getting a call every week from a particular number, including the night he was killed. Looks like he made his fair share of calls back to that same number, too."
Esposito raised an eyebrow. "Do we know who this other number is?"
"Yes." Ryan clicked a few more keys. "Number is registered to a Nelson Williams. Looks like he has a record, too, both on drug-related charges and an assault charge. And his last known address is right nearby the pizza place Beckett and Castle are checking out."
"I'll call Beckett," Esposito volunteered, reaching for the phone. "They can pick him up on their way back."
wmwmw
"Mr. Williams, we appreciate your coming down here to answer some questions."
The dark-haired man on the other side of the table shrugged. "I don't see that I had much of a choice in the matter."
Beckett didn't respond directly. Putting her elbows on the table, she leaned in towards the man. "Why don't you tell us about John Doe." Her words were a statement, not a question, and the look she gave the man left no room for argument.
"John Doe? If you want me to identify somebody, you gotta give me a picture or something," the man protested; Beckett thought she detected a hint of amusement in the man's eyes.
"Uh-uh," Castle shook his head. "His name is actually John Doe." The writer still appeared to be enjoying their victim's name.
The man raised his hands. "Hey, I don't know any John Does."
"Oh really?" Beckett raised an eyebrow. "Because we've got phone records that show the two of you talked multiple times in the days leading up to his death."
"Look, lady, I don't know what you're talking about," Williams told her firmly. "I talk to a lot of people, and none of them were ever named John or Doe or anything similar."
Beckett took a photo from the file in front of her and slid it over to Williams as she continued, "Then how do you explain John Doe's phone number appearing in a record of your calls?"
Williams peered at the picture. "Look, I do know this guy, but he ain't no John Doe." He sat back and crossed his arms.
"We have records showing the two of you had multiple phone conversations in the past few months. How do you not know his name?"
"I never said I didn't know his name," the man defended himself. "But his name is definitely not John Doe."
"How did the two of you know each other?" Castle spoke up.
"Work. We both worked on the same construction project a few months back."
"And did he ever say anything to you about any trouble he was having?" Beckett continued. "Did he ever act strange when the two of you talked?"
Before Williams could reply, Esposito stuck his head into the interrogation room. "Sorry to interrupt, but can you step out here for a sec?"
"Yeah, sure." Beckett turned to Williams. "We'll be right back."
She and Castle followed Esposito outside of the interrogation room. As soon as Castle had swung the door shut, Esposito spoke up.
"So, I did some more checking with the hotel staff. Turns out, the afternoon receptionist remembers seeing Doe and another man entering the building together the day before the body turned up. When I ran the description she gave us, guess who it was?"
"I'm going to guess it wasn't Bigfoot?" Castle offered.
Esposito rolled his eyes. "Nelson Williams."
wmwmw
Beckett stifled a yawn as she studied the caseboard for the umpteenth time.
"Long day," Castle observed as he returned from the break room with two coffee cups in hand. He gave her one and turned to look over the board. "Found anything?"
"Nah." Beckett wrapped her hands around the steaming mug. "There's nothing I haven't looked at before, but I can't help thinking there's got to be a clue somewhere in all of this."
"Did Lanie find anything in the autopsy?"
"Yeah," Beckett reached for a folder on her desk. "She sent this up before she left for the night," she said as she handed it to Castle. "Looks like what she'd predicted at the scene. Our guy was stabbed and then dumped in the pool. There was no alcohol or illegal drugs in his system, although there were several traces of prescription pain killers. When the hotel room was processed, there were several small bags of pills, but there were no high amounts so it looks like they were all legally prescribed to Doe. Unfortunately, it looks like that's all we're going to get from the body."
"So there is a drug connection," Castle observed, paging through the file.
"It's probably nothing, Castle," Beckett told him. "There was nothing to indicate the drugs were illegal."
Castle just shrugged and nodded. "Where are Esposito and Ryan?"
"I sent them home for the night," Beckett said. "And was just about to call it one myself. We aren't getting anywhere that can't wait until morning. I've got to be in court in the morning, anyway; I have to testify at a couple of hearings."
"All right then. I'll make sure to bring extra coffee." Castle winked. "I will see you tomorrow."
wmwmw
Esposito was almost home when his phone rang. The caller ID on the screen displayed Lanie's number, and he quickly flipped the device open. "Hey, chica -"
A voice - one that was low and gravelly and definitely not Lanie's - cut him off. "Hello, Detective."