The Marlowe Prep Murder
Chapter 21
"Alexis barreled out of here this morning. Last day of the term?" Kate asks, savoring her second cup of coffee.
"The last half-day of the term," Castle responds. "She's going to pick up what's left in her locker, and she and Paige and their study group are going to have a celebrational lunch at Hamburger Hutch."
"How long until she starts her forensics program?"
"She has a week off in-between." Rick cradles his mug. "I was hoping I could have a little more time with her, but she's really excited to get started on her perceived new road in life. Maybe we can at least get in the next game of our laser tag tournament. Hey, I only have two sets of guns and targets, but you could referee."
"Strange as it is, that's a father-daughter activity. I'll stick to shooting bullets."
The air wavers as Johanna's image forms. "You should worry more about people shooting bullets at you. You've been spending a lot of time on the case that puts you in the crosshairs."
Kate and Rick exchange guilty glances. "We had leads," Kate explains.
"Well, you don't at this moment, not until you hear back from your computer whiz. What about keeping up your cover by working on that Star Trek case?" Johanna demands.
"We were waiting for a DNA analysis," Rick claims.
"We should have one this morning," Kate adds.
"Then get on the stick, Katie-girl," Johanna instructs.
"We will, Mom," Kate promises.
Kate watches as her mother's spirit fades from sight. "We better get started."
"Was your mom a Trekkie?" Rick asks, hurriedly loading the breakfast dishes into the dishwasher.
"Your books were more of a fascination for her than anything sci-fi, except that I think it was the voice, but she did have a soft spot for Worf. So I guess she'd want to know who'd kill someone with a bat'leth."
Rick leans over the counter to plant a kiss on Kate's forehead. "I always knew you come from good genes. But speaking of genes, your mother is right. We should check and see what Carl and his merry laboratory band have unearthed."
"There's a high probability that your victim comes from Russia," Carl announces. "I'll email you the report, but we found something more interesting than his ancestry. He has the gene for a neurodegenerative disease. I passed the markers on to Dr. Parrish. She can tell you more about the implications."
"I don't suppose this disease would arise from mating with a Klingon?" Rick queries.
Carl sighs and rolls his eyes. "If anyone sequences the Klingon genome, you let me know, Mr. Castle. But until then, I can say with high confidence that Mr. Namon's problem was of earthly origin. And Detective Beckett, you may have been right about aluminum mining. The blood on Namon's clothes had higher than normal amounts of aluminum."
"Actually, it was Castle who figured out the aluminum mining, Carl," Kate informs the tech, as Rick smiles triumphantly. "We'll go see Dr. Parish now."
Lanie lights up as Rick hands her a large Java Juice. "I was hoping you'd bring this. I can use the energy this morning, especially after going through the report Carl sent over. Most doctors could live their whole lives without seeing a disease like the one Tom Namon had. You'd find cases clustered in enclaves. And his crazy diet wasn't a cure, but it might have helped. He couldn't handle some of the compounds that normally form on the surface of cooked food, especially when it chars. They would have built up in his body. The effects would have been slow, but my guess is that he was already showing symptoms."
"So if Klingons were real and they had a problem like that, would they need to eat their food raw?" Castle wonders.
"The operative part of your question being 'If Klingons were real,' writer boy. Yes, but cooking also kills all sorts of nasty parasites and breaks down things so we can digest them."
"So Klingons might be so grumpy because they're infested or have indigestion," Rick mulls. "There's a plot there somewhere."
Kate bumps him with her hip. "You can figure it out later, Babe, but right now, I'm more interested in the plot here. Lanie, could there be an enclave of people with this disease in Russia?"
"There might be. There are databases that list clusters like that. It wouldn't be hard to find out."
Rick rubs his hands together. "I think we're about to find out a lot more about the birthing of a bat'leth."
Downing the last of his overcaffeinated soda, Izzy regards his screen. It wasn't difficult breaking into the DMV. The records they digitized from microfiche are nothing to write home about, but at least he has some cross-referencing capacity. He needs it, too.
A dark-haired female driver, age unknown, and of approximately average height and weight doesn't eliminate many prospects, even limiting his search to the late '60s. A blue Camaro helps. The car was popular but not the vehicle for Joe — or Jane — Blow. His list of registered owners is manageable, especially throwing in a partial plate. Of course, that assumes the driver didn't steal the car or the plates, but he can check that out too.
Morozov steps out of a car in front of Nico Cardano's offices — again. Jack's beginning to get bored with this. The chatter has continued, but there's been no sign of a deal being struck. Even if there is one, Jack questions why his services might be necessary. There are less experienced operatives who could handle this duty with no difficulty at all.
Maybe that is about to change.
The black town car pulling up in front of Nico Cardano's offices is new to Jack. Numerous vehicles have come and gone, but the figure being helped to slowly emerge from this one hasn't shown up before. Sonofabitch! It's the Old Man. The number of times he's been seen in public the last few years can be counted on one hand with a finger or two left over. Whatever is going down must be huge.
Jack sends a quick message querying the movement of Russian money into New York. Forty billion rubles, more than half a billion dollars, are on their way—no wonder the Old Man is keeping a hand on the transaction. The massive influx of cash also explains the Old Man's paranoia about anything that might threaten Nico's standing in the organization. The closing of the deal will also be a triumph for Nico, more than enough to crown him as the Old Man's successor. From what Jack can observe, it may not be long before the mantle passes. Any threat Richard and Kate pose to the transition will be dealt with quickly and permanently. As soon as Morozov and the Cardanos complete their ceremonies here, Jack intends to haul ass down to Broome Street. He can check in with the company from there.
Izzy takes a final bounce on the minitrampoline in the corner of the room. He needed that. He's ready now to take his final steps to hunt down a killer. He compares the stats of the few women that fit his profile. And there she is: Violet Curtis, same initials as Vera Cafaro. Some people just can't resist doing that. That's not as stupid as using 1234 as a password, but close. It's midnight, but he's not about to wait to announce his success to Rick and Kate.