Wrong Place Wrong Time
Chapter 52
"Ryan, can we get the plate?" Beckett asked.
"Yeah," Ryan replied, "I already got it. It's part of a fleet registered to a corporation."
"Could you send the information to me?" Beckett requested. "Tracing corporate ownership is just the sort of thing Jordan's guys are good for." She shifted her attention. "Castle, we should get back."
Castle nodded in silent agreement.
"Your Lincoln has led us quite a merry chase," Jordan Shaw announced. "The corporation that owns it is owned in turn by a holding company which is part of a larger holding company. We have found that among the holdings of the parent company is some real estate in the area where Jason Marks was last seen alive."
"So if we can tie one of those buildings to Vulcan Simmons' drug operation, we have the connection?"
Castle asked.
"A very big if, Rick," Jordan responded. "We don't have probable cause for a warrant for any of them and we don't have the manpower to catch the comings and goings from each of the buildings."
"I'd like to trace the history of those buildings and see what I come up with," Castle proposed.
"I'm going to look deeper in to Jason Marks," Beckett said. "Ryan and Esposito should be able to get his financials and phone calls as part of the murder investigation and I can trace down his associations in N.Y. And in D.C.."
Jordan nodded slowly. "Both reasonable avenues of investigation. Keep me apprised." She began to walk out of the room.
"Jordan," Castle called after her, "I'd really like to go to the New York Public Library downtown. They have a lot of materials on the history of New York that aren't available online."
"I can have our people take you down there," Jordan agreed. "What about you, Kate?"
Beckett was hesitant to be separated from Castle, but shoved her disquiet aside. "I think I might work better with the boys at the 12th. Castle and I can compare notes later."
"Fine," Jordan told her. "We'll give you an escort. Keep in touch."
Castle inhaled the scent of paper. He had a feeling of comfort with the sense of coming home, having spent so many hours within the familiar walls both as a child and while researching his books. As both the internet and his bond with Beckett had grown more vital to his life, he'd spent less and less time here, but it was still a haven. The table at which he worked was covered with books and articles detailing the history of Washington Heights. While the area had been a center for criminal activity in the 1980's, the crime rate had fallen precipitously with changes in population until it was now the fourth lowest in the city. Some of Vulcan Simmons' old stomping grounds had undergone considerable gentrification along with bordering neighborhoods in Harlem. There were still, however, pockets of suspicious activity. The neighborhood in which Jason Marks had been seen was one of them. Castle focused on the block containing the bodega and the car repair shop. The bodega was merely the latest incarnation of a store that had passed through multiple first generation immigrants, belonging to Dominicans before passing to a family from Ecuador. Castle could find nothing suspicious about it.
The car repair shop was another matter. It had once been a garage, known for modifying cars for use in running drugs. It had finally passed to the parent of the corporation linked to the ownership of the bloodied Lincoln. Triumphantly, Castle called Beckett with his discovery.
Beckett traced Jason Marks' phone records, courtesy of Esposito. There were a number of dead ends, phones with both New York City and D.C area codes, but untraceable burners. She found some calls to the official offices of PACs supporting Bracken. That came as no surprise. There was also a call to a pizza outlet in Washington Heights. Beckett requested the records of where pizzas might have been delivered that day. After frustrating discussions with increasingly higher levels of management, she secured a promise the records would be sent to her via email. She was examining the list when Castle called.
"Beckett," Castle reported breathlessly, "that car repair shop we saw in the picture of Jordan Marks, it's connected to the same corporation the Lincoln was registered to."
Beckett regarded her screen with sudden realization. "Castle, I have another link. Jason Marks had a pizza delivered there the day before his body was found. We have enough for a warrant!"
Members of the NYPD and agents of the FBI assembled just before dawn to launch their assault, out of sight a block over from the car repair shop. Justified by both local and Federal warrants, they simultaneously broke through several doors. The repair shop was empty, but the Lincoln was there. UV light revealed blood residue on the bumper, in the trunk, and also on on the concrete floor.
Steps led upstairs. Jordan led a squad, including Beckett, Ryan, and Esposito upward into a lavishly furnished apartment. Implored by Beckett, Castle in his Writer's vest, kept to the rear of the group. The apartment was silent. White powder and razor blades lay on a glass coffee table. Scents of marijuana and perfume hung in the air. Weapons drawn, Jordan and Beckett flanked a closed door while Esposito kicked it open. Vulcan Simmons lay, eyes closed under a red satin sheet, with a woman on either side. "Wake up, you sonofabitch!" Beckett shouted. "You're under arrest for murder."
With a feeling of déjà vu, Castle sat next to Beckett in interrogation, while Vulcan Simmons smirked defiantly at her glare. "Simmons, CSU is going over every inch of that Lincoln now. They will find Jason Marks' DNA," Beckett asserted.
"They might, but they won't find mine," Simmons insisted, laughing. "I've never seen that car before. It's a repair shop. Cars come and go. Who knows what happens in them?"
"The apartment where you were found was full of illegal drugs," Beckett continued, leaning across the table.
"Well I'll give you that one, Detective," Simmons replied. "The ladies, well they brought their evening's entertainment. Helps to get them in the mood. You want to bust me for drug possession, fine. I'll be out of here in an hour."
Beckett smiled, the steel in her eyes unchanged by the upturn of her mouth. "No Mr. Simmons, I'm not going to bust you for drugs, but it does give me grounds to hold you, long enough to leak it that you're telling tales, tales about a certain very powerful man. Then how long do you think you'll last at the Tombs? Five minutes? That might even be generous."
All amusement vanished from Simmons' face. "You can't do that."
Beckett's smile never wavered as she held him in her unrelenting gaze. "Try me."
