Guardian Angel

Chapter 15

"I found an address for a Gary McCallister in the Bronx!" Rick exclaims, pointing at the screen of his phone as he rests it against his steering wheel. "It's in the Concourse area, pretty close to the new Yankee Stadium. He should be the right one. Ready to work your Beckett magic?"

"It's not magic Castle, it's acquired skill, and a lot of what I do depends on having a badge. I'm not sure how to pull off questioning him without one."

Rick nods thoughtfully. "Well, if you don't go at him as a cop, how about if I enlist him as a consultant?"

"How do you explain picking him?"

"I say I'm writing a book about the murder of a baseball player. You and I talked to your dad as a superfan, and he referred us to McCallister as a superfan/cop. That also will explain why we'll be talking to him together."

"Are you really planning on writing about the murder of a baseball player?" Kate queries.

"I might eventually. Athletes have a mystique that can pull in readers. But if I do, I'll need your help, and maybe your father's too. What I know about baseball is limited to overheard snatches of conversation when my mother was dating a player once. And that was mostly about a short run Mother did with a road company as Lola in Damn Yankees. But whether I write the story or not, researching it would be a way to get McCallister talking. I've noticed that once people get started, all sorts of things can slip out."

"And we might pick up some information from what's in his apartment, too," Kate considers.

"The address doesn't list an apartment number. McCallister might have a house."

Kate unconsciously rakes her hair back. "That area used to be pretty cheap, but prices have been going up. I don't think a retired cop could afford one."

"Maybe he financed it the same way he got the money for that baseball card, Kate," Rick suggests. "The man was dirty, and Bracken wouldn't let him get clean. We can find out more after we see the place. If I sneak a few pictures, I can send them to the designer who did my beach house. She knows the price of almost every stick of furniture ever made - carpets and window treatments too. She could probably crush it on 'The Price is Right.'"

"That kind of information might be useful," Kate acknowledges. "Wait, you have a beach house?"

"Uh-huh. When Alexis was younger, I thought she should have a place to run around. I used to take her to the park almost every day when she was little, but it's not the same as being able to dig your toes into the sand or play Marco Polo in a pool. So I bought a house in the Hamptons. The place has a great view. On the Fourth of July, we get to watch the fireworks over the ocean. I barbecue, too. It's nice."

"It sounds wonderful. I like to spend time by the water too," Kate confides. "My dad has a cabin upstate by a lake. It's just a little place, but we can go walking and fish. Sometimes I go there to recharge a little."

"I know what you mean about recharging. I like the city, especially the people-watching. I can make up enough stories about the characters I see to fill hundreds of books. But with human beings jammed that close together, everyone puts up protective walls. The rules are unofficial, but everyone knows them. When you're in an elevator, you keep your eyes forward and pull in tight to avoid touching anyone—same thing on a crowded subway. And if someone is breaking the code, the feeling of fear is palpable. You know what I mean?" Castle wonders.

"I never thought of it in those terms, but I think I understand," Kate allows. "You're talking about the danger of crowds. It doesn't take much to set off mob behavior."

"Or misbehavior. Not that it doesn't happen where there's more living space. But the Hamptons are hardly hotbeds of crime. You know, you should come out with me sometime, when we're not neck-deep in a murder investigation, I mean. Relax a little."

"I'll think about it, Castle."

"You should do more than think about it," Johanna advises.


After inviting Rick and Kate to take seats on the couch, McCallister sinks into a leather chair. "Tell your father I send my regards, Ms. Beckett."

"Kate," Beckett urges, "and I will."

"I'm Rick," Castle adds.

"A book about an investigation of a murdered baseball player, huh? That could be interesting," McCallister judges. "I'm sure there are a few players their wives would like to take out, just for their adventures on the road, if you know what I mean. Most of them don't exactly want for female attention."

"I get it," Castle assures the suspect cop. "I'm not about to hit one out of the park, but as an author, I have my share of groupies. But I want to craft a tale about more than a jealousy killing. How about involvement in some scheme where a city official makes money off the game? Money and power are always great backdrops for a story."

"I could see bribing a player to blow a turn at bat or something. A gambling syndicate could clean up. But a crooked city official?" McCallister's knuckles whiten as his hands curl tightly around the arms of his chair. "I never had anything to do with crooked officials as a cop. What do you mean?"

Castle shrugs. "I don't know, but here's a scenario off the top of my head. Suppose a team wanted a new stadium. One of the players fronts for the owners, wining and dining the mayor and the city council and greasing palms to snag a prime location. A lawyer working on the deal gets suspicious. She's a beautiful but dogged woman who won't back down and could screw up the whole deal. But the baseball player falls for her, and they both get taken out. His death garners so much publicity that the cops don't pay much attention to hers - except for one detective who was also in love with her. He uses every spare minute he has to investigate her murder. That cop not only finds the killer, but uncovers the whole dirty mess, and exposes the official who ordered the hits." Castle grins. "But I'm just fooling around here, the plot could be anything," he adds, regarding the noticeable blanching of McCallister's face. "Oh, listen, could I use your bathroom? I had way too much coffee at lunch."

McCallister wets his suddenly dry lips and points. "Yeah, sure. There's one down the hall and around the corner."

Castle fingers the phone in his pocket. Perfect. He'll be out of sight. "I appreciate it. I'm always thinking I should cut down on caffeine. You and Kate can talk baseball while I wash up. I get the impression that she learned the game at her daddy's knee."

Rick takes as many pictures as he can while unseen by McCallister, before deciding to actually use the facilities. He really should drink less coffee."


It wasn't difficult for Dick Coonan to locate Kate Beckett's apartment. Any of the programs available for $39.95 could have done it, but they would also have provided false trails to waste his time. The search engine he had a black hatter build for him was much more precise. He considers planting explosives, but making a kill in person is much more satisfying. It will be easy to bug Beckett's place, so he'll always know when she's there. After he has a handle on her comings and goings, he'll be ready to have some very lucrative amusements.