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Family Secrets
Chapter Three
The numerals on the wall clock rolled over to 9:00 just as she shoved her bicycle helmet into her desk drawer the next morning. Cari brought a cup of coffee over to her desk while she was logging on to her terminal. "Oh, thank you."
"Looks like you had an interesting night after all. Or else you're just back to your Castle's-never-on-time habits."
Marty's hair was still damp. She ran her fingers through it in an effort to smooth away the helmet's effects. "No. I told you I'm working on that. I was just up later than I meant to be."
"Really? Even after you ditched me? Must've gotten a call from that cop you keep saying is like your brother."
Why was everyone suddenly asking her about Rory? Yes, they'd been spending more time together lately, but that didn't necessarily have to mean anything. "I did. We were supposed to have breakfast this morning. But I blew him off."
"For who?"
"My actual brother, last night." She wrapped an elastic band around her renewed ponytail. "How's Hurricane Bill this morning?"
"Gale force. You're going to need that." Cari indicated the coffee. "Go on. But you and I are going to talk later. Count on that."
Marty smiled. Trading quips with her friend always made her feel better. "Gives me something to look forward to."
Reston was frowning at something on his terminal when she tapped the doorsill. The frown deepened when he looked up and saw her. "What's this I hear about you getting stranded on the highway yesterday?"
"Rental broke down." She pulled out her pad. "Something went screwy with the electronics, but I was able to recover part of my notes and remember the rest of them."
"Rental broke down," he repeated, pointing at a chair. She had to move a pile of paper aside before she could sit down. "I suppose you were careful to check it before you went out."
"Come on, Bill. I'm a cop's daughter."
"That doesn't make you invulnerable."
"No. But I got back, okay?"
"Was it worth it?"
"Yes," she said, handing him the pad so that he could look over her notes. "On a couple levels, actually. I want to use this Joe Pulgatti as the case study in my story."
He scanned over what she'd written so far. "You get a release?"
"No." She'd been too rattled at the implications involving her parents, which she had carefully left out of this version of her interview notes. Those weren't going into the story. "But I can email it, and do any other follow-ups via phone."
"Good." He handed the pad back. "This is only your first investigative piece, Castle. It's not supposed to be a dangerous one."
"Dangerous?"
"Rental cars don't usually die on you. McManus said something about you got a phone call before it went out, and that you lost your other electronics too?"
Had she mentioned the threatening phone call to Cari? She must have. "Yeah, I did. It was location-blocked and had line interference, though."
"In other words, they didn't want to be found. Like I said, this isn't supposed to be dangerous."
"I didn't go out looking for a problem. But I know how to take care of myself."
"I know you do. Just be careful. You can always pick a different example case if this one gets too hot." He tapped a couple of commands into his terminal. "Any fallout from your Mom's retirement announcement?"
"You'd be the first to know. Though she's not actually leaving until the end of the year."
"You think you could write a retrospective on her career for right around then?"
She shifted uncomfortably. The brief article attributed to "Staff" hadn't been difficult, but it was little more than a fleshed-out press release. Writing a comprehensive piece on her own mother would require going a lot more in-depth; it possibly would even require official interviews of people she'd known her entire life.
And right now, she thought, I already have awkward questions for some of them. "Wouldn't that be better assigned to someone who isn't related to her?"
"You don't think you can do it? You're forgetting I know who ghost-wrote that book your father put out about his life at the precinct."
She sighed. "I'll do it if you assign it. But that…was before I was working the cop beat, so it's not quite the same. And Dad wrote the majority of his autobiography. I just edited for grammar and tone, stylistic type stuff."
He studied her for a long moment, causing her to wonder if anything was showing in her expression. She'd spent a long time developing a poker face, but it wasn't perfect.
"All right," said Reston. "I'll assign it to someone else. For a price."
"How much?"
"Deep background. You fact-check it before it runs, make sure there's nothing significant screwed up or missing. We don't want anything left out."
"Bill, my Dad left a lot of things out of Family of Twelve. Even I don't know what all of it was. Parents don't tell their children everything."
"Take it or leave it, Castle. You're the best source I've got."
Marty took a breath. "Fine, I'll take it. Provided you assign it to someone who's not out to do an exposé. My mother is not a target."
"We'll leave that to the Enquirer. Now. What's on deck for today? You sticking around the newsroom for a change?"
"Only if there's news." She tapped a command into the pad and called up the list of interviews she had scheduled for that afternoon.
Ninety minutes later, she took her coffee out of the office microwave and glanced over at Cari's desk. Her friend was gone, probably out on the job. Making her way back to her own desk, Marty sat down and reached for the terminal keyboard.
The screen cleared and she frowned. She'd run into Reston's office so fast that she hadn't done anything except log in. Yet her notes file for the secret pardons piece was open on the screen. She'd put some questions and ideas into it last night just before bed, but she hadn't instructed Veta to sync those last-minute ideas to her work terminal yet.
Or had she? She had made sure that the pad was up-to-date in preparation for her meeting. "Veta," she asked, slipping her earpiece on, "when did you do the last terminal sync?"
"Three o'clock this morning," answered the assistant. "Scheduled auto-backup."
She'd been out with Jay then. "Which files were updated on the work network?"
"One file: pardons article notes."
"Did you include a command for the file to be open upon my login at work?"
There was a brief pause. "No such command found."
So had someone been snooping on her terminal? Here? At the Ledger? Journalistic ethics were sometimes a bit…elastic…but that sort of behavior wouldn't be tolerated.
Using the keyboard to be safe, she changed the terminal password. Then she changed her screen back to the open file, scrolling to the bottom so she could pick up where she'd left off.
The recent notes weren't present.
She hadn't gone to bed that late, had she? "Veta, pull the access logs for the pardons article notes and display them on my work terminal."
After a moment, the file came up and her eyes widened. She'd expected to see several lines of nearly-unintelligible codes. She hadn't expected to see a single line of English text.
We warned you yesterday. Don't make us do it again.
Her lips thinned and she reached for the keyboard. Fortunately, the talk in her boss' office had reminded her of all the things that had been deleted from the file. The memories were relatively fresh, after all. She could key the notes in again. All she'd lost was time.
"Let me make sure I understand this correctly," said Marty. "The normal procedure for a parole case is to interview the inmate, review pertinent documentation, and speak with anyone in the community who has a direct interest in the case. The 'hearing' is actually the inmate interview. Do I have that correct?"
Her surroundings were impressive. Senator Edward Carroll's home was in one of the nicer sections of Queens, and he clearly had spared no expense for his study.
"That's right," he said softly, seated in one of two comfortable, leather-covered stuffed chairs. Marty was in the other one, with her pad and stylus out. For this interview, she'd slipped into a conservative suit.
It was a deliberate move, meant to de-emphasize her age; the man's reputation as being dismissive toward young women was well-known. "Thank you, sir. You were the chairman of the Board of Paroles in 2015, when Joe Pulgatti came up. Do you remember that one? My understanding is that the hearing request was granted."
"Pulgatti," said the older man thoughtfully, though his eyes stayed on Marty's face. "Yes, I remember him. He'd gone up in '92 for murder."
She nodded. "That's the one. I filed a FOIL request for a hearing transcript and was told the proceedings had been sealed. By you, Mr. Senator. Was there a reason for that?"
"You don't waste time, do you, Miss Castle?"
"No," she answered in the same soft tone he'd been using. "I don't. I also know when someone's trying to evade a question."
"And I know when someone asks me a question but already knows the answer. If I sealed those proceedings, the reason for the seal would be as confidential as the hearing itself."
"What if I were to ask Mr. Pulgatti?"
"You mean you haven't already?"
"I have," she said. Twice, actually; she'd called him earlier about the release she'd forgotten to request. He'd agreed to it, and expressed concern over the "car trouble" she'd had on the way back from the personal interview. Be careful, honey. You could be messing with a lot more than you realize.
I'm sure I am, she'd answered, giving him her Ledger email address.
Do me a favor? Let me know what you find out. Indulge an old man's curiosity.
She'd agreed. Marty blinked and pulled herself back into the moment, covering herself by pretending to check her notes. "He claims he was never interviewed. He was just told he was a Violent Felony Offender who'd reached his six-sevenths point."
"He might have been."
"His sentence was for life, Senator Carroll. Even using a presumptive forty years, that wouldn't have made him eligible for release any earlier than 2024. Yet he was paroled nine years before that." She tapped her pad for emphasis. "And the original sentence was handed down before Jenna's Law was signed."
"Is there a question in there?"
"Yes." She rotated the pad to show the document she'd called up before the interview. "Why was Joe Pulgatti paroled after serving only twenty-three years of a sentence to life without parole? Using a law that went into effect six years after his incarceration?"
"You only have his word that he was automatically paroled."
"Yes, because the hearings and findings were sealed. That's why I'm asking you, sir. Does your statement mean he was paroled for some other reason?"
Carroll's eyes hardened. "You said it yourself: the six-sevenths rule wouldn't have applied to him."
"Answer the question, please."
"The records are sealed, Miss Castle."
"Why?" She kept her gaze squarely on his. "Why did you seal them, Mr. Senator?"
"Why don't you ask your parents?"
That threw her off her rhythm and she blinked. Crap. She took a quick breath. "What?"
"Your parents," repeated the senator. There was the hint of a smug smile on his face now. "Richard Castle and Kate Beckett. Why don't you ask them why Joe Pulgatti was paroled?"
She took another breath, reaching for equilibrium. "I'm asking you."
"But you already know the answer, don't you? You don't need to ask me."
Marty opened her mouth and closed it again. She wasn't about to admit that she hadn't spoken with her parents about this. Not now. But why did it always seem to come back to them?
Just what had Joe Pulgatti and Johanna Beckett gotten tangled up in?
The interview ended quickly after that; Carroll was gracious but firm, and she'd lost too much control of the situation. This wasn't going to get her any information about the parole hearing, and she hadn't even had the chance to bring up the later Petition for Executive Clemency.
She'd have to try another angle.
A week. It'd been a week and the article deadline was still there. She'd finally given in and made a couple of phone calls to set up interviews about another one of the test cases. Joe Pulgatti's story might not make it into this article after all, except as a footnote.
Marty frowned at her terminal. It wasn't particularly late, but the newsroom had already fallen dead quiet. New Year's Eve was always either a big news day or a slow news day.
She'd come in when an email had come through indicating that at least part of her appeal on the freedom-of-information request had been granted. There had, in fact, been a hearing, and the Board of Paroles had provided her with a list of those who had either testified or sent a statement.
Her parents were on it. The hearing had been just a few months after they'd gotten married.
Their names weren't the only familiar ones in front of her.
She scrubbed her eyes and stared at the list again. No, she wasn't imagining those names: James Beckett. Detective Javier Esposito. Captain Victoria Gates. Detective Kevin Ryan.
There were two another names, too, ones she didn't recognize. She highlighted it and tapped a command into the terminal. "Veta, run database searches on Evan Howard and Michael Smith – the ones highlighted here – and put the results into the pardons article notes."
"Okay. Time frame and parameters?"
She hesitated. Exactly what was she looking for, anyway? Her right hand drifted to her left wrist, and she traced the edge of her grandfather's old watch. Her mother had worn it while he was alive – she'd never explained why she had it – and then given it to her as a memento when he'd died. She'd been in college at the time.
"General background, public demographic data. Known residences and employers," she answered after a moment. "Focus on two time frames: 1990 through 1994, and 2012 through 2016."
It's not just you, Grandpa, she thought, swallowing around a lump in her throat a she re-read his name on the list of statements. It's all of you. Why did this case matter so much, and if so, why have I never heard about it before?
The party was in full swing, and like most of her parents' parties it was popular and noisy. Marty couldn't have skipped it without triggering questions, but tonight the crowd was wearing on her more than usual. She quietly slipped upstairs, through her old bedroom to the balcony off the second floor, and breathed in the cold air. Closing her eyes, she listened to the traffic in the distance and tried to clear her mind.
"Hey, M.J."
Despite her parents being one of the sources of her turmoil, she found herself smiling at the use of her byline. "Hey, Mom."
"Had a little too much?"
She didn't open her eyes. "Don't worry. Bike's at home. I took a cab."
"That's not what I meant." Her mother joined her at the railing. "I meant the party."
She shrugged, feeling the uneasiness crowd back into her mind. "Big groups never really have been my thing."
"Mine either. But your father and brother love it."
Marty seized the opportunity to change the subject. "I know, and it's good to see that Jay actually showed up for this one. Seeing as it's also your official retirement party."
Kate laughed, though the sound was thin in the cold night air. "Open bar."
"That's awfully cynical."
"It's true, though." There was a rustle of fabric. "You look upset."
She opened her eyes, but didn't turn away from the railing. This brownstone was the home where she'd grown up, though she was aware that her parents had actually bought it while she was a toddler, just after Jay had been formally adopted. It was comforting to stand here. "I do?"
"Yes. And you've been distracted tonight. Is something going on?"
Yes, Mom, she thought. It looks like you were part of a cover-up thirty years ago. You want to tell me about that?
"It's…work related," she said out loud. "I didn't know you could tell."
"I'm your mother," said Kate. "And you only moved out this past summer, so you've not changed that much. Is it something specific, or just work in general? A story, maybe?"
Somehow, she resisted the urge to blurt everything out, covering it with a shrug. "Something like that, yeah."
"I take it you don't want to talk about it."
Marty couldn't keep the soft snort from coming out, but she managed to make it sound like a harsh breath. "I can't."
"You know I can keep my mouth shut."
"It's not that," she said, grateful for the chance to be honest even if she knew her mother would misunderstand the statement. "I just…I don't know what to think right now. I've found out some things that were…" she trailed off, trying to find the right words. "Surprising to learn. And there've been some incidents."
Her mother squeezed her hand warmly, but her tone became firm. "You should always take threats seriously. You know that."
"Relax, Mom." She returned the squeeze. "They're not threats. Not exactly. It's just that…I think someone doesn't want me to write this story."
"The one about the pardons?"
"Yeah."
"Which, of course, means you're doubly determined to write it."
Marty couldn't help it. That made her laugh. "You really do still know me."
Her mother smiled in response, but sobered quickly. "Do you have any idea who's behind these 'incidents'?"
How was she supposed to answer that without giving herself away? "No."
"You want me to look into it? I still have some pull, even if my last day was yesterday."
"I'm fine, Mom. Really."
"Okay." The hand over hers squeezed again. "Come on back down and rejoin us when you've had a chance to catch your breath. But don't make it too long. The ball's dropping soon."
She made it, but just barely. The warmth and noise hit her as soon as she got to the bottom of the stairs. In the back, she could see an image of Times Square on a projection screen, and people were starting to pair off.
Marty sighed inwardly. She hadn't liked coming without a date, but most of her male friends had had plans of their own for this evening. And is that just a convenient excuse, Marty?
An arm wrapped around her waist. "Hey, big sister. Don't be such a wallflower. C'mon over here."
She let Jay lead her further into the room. They ended up at the piano, where she slid down onto the bench to his right. There was a fresh-looking drink next to the music holder. "Is that yours?"
"Yeah."
With a quirk of her lips, she picked it up and took a swallow.
He laughed. "You can get cooties that way, you know."
"Brothers don't count." Surprisingly, she could just barely taste the alcohol.
"Is that a compliment or an insult?"
"Depends on who's asking."
He chuckled and put his hands on the keyboard, doodling out a tune she didn't recognize. Knowing him, it probably wasn't anything specific. Around them, the crowd began chanting. "3…2…1…Happy New Year!"
Jay smoothly segued into a tune she did recognize: "Auld Lang Syne." Around them, amidst the noisemakers, sparklers and kisses, people started singing. "I didn't know this was a gig," she murmured underneath the noise.
"It's not. But drunks are so cute."
"I suppose you would know about that." Despite the weak drink he had now, he was no doubt already nicely loosened up himself.
"Oh, be nice. Happy New Year." He finished the song and leaned over. His breath was warm on her cheek as he kissed it, and she realized there was almost no scent of alcohol on his breath.
"Did you pop a mint?" she asked as she returned the kiss.
He looked confused. "No. Why?"
"You…smell different."
He winked and picked up his drink, only taking a sip large enough to wet his lips. "It's time to make a few resolutions, don't you think?"
The smile on her face was driven as much from awe as it was from happiness. "Oh, my God. Jay. That's wonderful."
"Say that again when I've made it to sixty days." He started another song on the piano and she rolled her eyes in response. Back when they were growing up and taking lessons, they'd both despised this one.
"Oh, don't make faces. Do this for me? Please?"
"All right. Bring it back around to the start." Straightening up, she put her hands on the keys, listened to the harmony and picked up the melody on cue. It was an upbeat song, from an old movie, and fit right in with a New Year's Eve crowd.
He slid his gaze over after a moment. "You sound like you've been practicing."
"Way too busy. This one's just burned too deeply into my brain for me to scrub it out."
"She complains about playing it, yet she agrees to do it the minute she hears it." He added a couple of extra flourishes to his side.
Marty's lips quirked, but she kept up with the slight alteration his improvisation required. "You're the professional musician. I'm just a reporter."
"Point stands." They played together for a minute, his foot operating the pedal. "I'm surprised you're even here tonight. Plenty of crime scenes to cover on New Year's Eve."
"Yes, and I'm sure I'll hear all about them tomorrow." Marty dropped her left hand to her lap momentarily, as Jay's part came up to the higher side of the piano. "Actually, I'm surprised to see you here."
"I needed to talk to you about those bank records."
Her hands splayed involuntarily, causing her to lose the rhythm and hit a couple of wrong keys. "You found something?"
"Stay on point. Song's not over." He repeated the last few bars he'd played.
She dropped back in. "You didn't answer my question."
"I will in a little bit. We need to talk about this in private, and that's not here."
He was right; the crowd was still as thick as it had been before midnight. Marty took a deep breath and concentrated on her playing. Jay was taking things easy, in deference to their skill gap, but it still took attention to keep up.
"Well, if it isn't the Class of '34."
Speaking of paying attention. "Hey, Harlan."
"Aren't a couple people missing, though?"
They finished the song and Jay looked up, away from her. "Liz is still in Africa, and Rory's not the kind to whine and look for a replacement when he pulls New Year's Eve duty."
"Not that it would work. Seniority has its privileges." Harlan took another swig of champagne and laughed. "I guess that means it's just you two. The brother and sister who aren't twins, but still graduated from high school the same year."
"It's not unheard-of," said Marty. Beside her, she felt Jay stiffen the way he always did when that was mentioned. She put a hand on his knee to calm him and continued, changing the subject. "What are you on the trail of these days, Harlan?
"Same old, same old. Computer hackers, cybercrime." His eyes fell on Jay, and this time the laugh became a giggle. "You should come consult for us sometime. Bet you'd have some ideas."
"I might," said Jay. The strain in his voice was obvious now. He got to his feet and picked up his drink. "But not tonight. If you'll excuse me, I think I need to get some air."
"What's his problem?" asked Harlan after Jay strode off.
Marty stood up and pushed past him to follow. "There's teasing and there's taunting. I think you've had a little too much tonight to know the difference. But communication never was your strong point, was it?"
Though this time, she thought, you were more helpful than you realized. He'd given them the perfect opening to go somewhere more private.
Since we're dealing with State law instead of Federal law, Marty references New York's Freedom of Information Law (FOIL) instead of the Federal Freedom of Information Act (FOIA). Jenna's Law is a popular name for New York's Sentencing Reform Act of 1998, which is still in effect as of 2013.
There are any number of jazzy, upbeat four-hand piano pieces that Marty and Jay might have been playing at the party, but for the one I had in mind, check out "Oho Megam Vandhadho (Rain Song)" on YouTube.
And for those that asked: the reference in Chapter Two was to the very short-lived Fox series, "Drive," which starred Nathan Fillion and Kristin Lehman (Serena Kaye from 5x04 "Eye of the Beholder"). It's available on various streaming sources and can be watched in an afternoon, though I'll warn you that due to its cancellation it ends on a cliffhanger.
