Evelyn
Chapter 25
"Detective Beckett, Castle," Tori calls across the bullpen, "You've got a response from Evans."
Kate dashes for Tech with Rick close behind her. "What did he send?"
Tori hands them printouts, and Rick quickly scans the message. "This looks like an inquiry into the kinds of guns William Jones likes, but it's got a subtext. Depending on how we answer this, Jones either comes off as an enthusiastic gun owner or as someone who buys Evans's sicko philosophy." He turns to Kate. "I assume we want Jones to do the latter."
Kate looks inquiringly at Tori. "Do you have enough to track Evans down, or do we need to keep him on the hook?"
"I don't know yet," Tori admits. "Keeping him on the hook until I'm sure I'm not chasing a spoof wouldn't be a bad idea."
"OK, Babe. Feel like stretching your wordsmithing muscles again?" Kate asks, lightly stroking Rick's arm.
"I will craft William Jones as bait for an old but deadly rat," Rick declares.
It's been a long time since Jerrold Evans did much shooting. Arthritis in his fingers makes squeezing a trigger difficult, and his frail body can no longer handle a recoil. He gets vicarious pleasure from his communications with readers of "Pow-Pow." If they agree with his view of the precarious situation of the white man, all the better. He studies his latest email from William Jones. He sounds like a right thinker, but then you never know. Hollywood is working harder than ever to brainwash the country into accepting mongrels and perverts. It seems like there's one around every corner, even in his community.
When Jerrold first moved into the comfortable suburb, everyone understood the "gentleman's agreement." No one would talk about it, but you didn't allow your kids to socialize with those people, and you sure as hell didn't sell your home to one. That's been changing. There are a couple of damn pervs living on the next block, and houses are selling to anyone. He's considered moving to someplace where people still understand purity, but he's used to his network in New York. It's worked for him for a long time, and he's not sure he could cope with putting together a new one. He rereads Jones' email. The man's mind seems to run in all the right channels. It might be time to set up a meeting to test him out in person.
Carl Osnitz smiles broadly as he approaches Alexis' station at the bench. "That was good work you did, identifying the high concentrations of zinc."
"Have the police figured out where it came from?" Alexis asks.
"Not yet," Osnitz admits. "Do you have a theory?"
Alexis nods vigorously. "I looked at the report of the stomach contents, and there was honey and echinacea. Some of the kids at school suck on lollipops with those ingredients, along with zinc, when they have a cold. I just thought if the deceased had a lot of them, maybe in addition to zinc lozenges, the metal could eventually build to toxic amounts. It would suppress levels of HDL and might eventually lead to a heart attack, especially if the deceased already had heart disease. If someone wanted to hurry death along a little, they could provide the lollipops or something like them, pretending concern for the victim's health."
"It's an interesting idea," Carl considers, "but you didn't get it from one of your father's books, did you?"
Alexis rolls her eyes. "No. Derrick Storm never went after a lollipop killer. Neither did Nikki Heat. Not enough action. But my Gram made herself sick once with herbs that were supposed to give her youthful vitality. Dad and I had to take her to the emergency room, and the doctor said something about people poisoning themselves with stuff they believe is good for them. That's what gave me the idea. Do you think the detective on the case can check it out?"
"You can write up the possibility, and I'll append it to the report," Carl promises. "How's your project for Ms. Montgomery going?"
"Pretty well. I'm going to call her when she gets off work to give her an update."
Carl nods. "That's great. Keep up the good work." Montgomery's going to owe him for this one.
"Can I help you with that?" Castle asks as the espresso machine sprays Tori with water.
"Please. It hates me," she claims.
"I think it's a case of mechanical versus electronic enmity," Rick speculates. "That thing has soaked the cellphones of three detectives." He points to a canister of rice on the shelf next to the sugar. "We keep this around in case it takes aim at another one. You being the mistress of the electronic realm would make you its newest target. Don't worry, it buddies up fast, but for now, you can consider me your barista. What's your order?"
"Do you know how to make a mochaccino?"
"My daughter's favorite," Rick declares. "I will have it for you in a moment."
"And I have something for you and Detective Beckett. I was going to bring it to you after I got my coffee. You have another message from Evans."
"That was fast," Rick remarks, reaching for the cocoa. "Did you get a location on him?"
"I think you and Detective Beckett will be able to handle that," Tori responds. "He wants to see you."
"Air whistles through Rick's pursed lips. "That could get awkward. But we'll figure something out. You want sprinkles or nutmeg?"
"Sprinkles," Tori decides.
Kate's teeth dig into her bottom lip, "Evans hasn't stayed out of prison all this time by being stupid. If you show up as William Jones, he might recognize you. Your picture was all over the place when Heat Wave came out. And you were on Kimmel and the View."
"I doubt he watches either one, but I did do an authors' panel on diversity that was covered by The Ledger. If he read about it, he might use my picture as a dartboard. So what do we do?" Rick wonders.
"We need a cop to play William Jones," Kate muses, "someone who would be convincing cuddling his gun. Normally I'd say Esposito, but…"
"Yeah, he's not exactly Evans' type. So who?"
Kate snaps her fingers. "Connors!"
"The guy who runs the shooting range? I've never heard him put more than two sentences together."
"Except when he talks about guns. I had a beer with him and some of the guys once. You would have thought it was an N.R.A. rally. Even at a table full of cops, the only one who didn't come up with an excuse to leave was Espo."
"Connors may have the heavy metal love down, but what about the hate part of the role?" Rick queries. "The only time I've seen him even show annoyance with anyone was if they shot out of their lane. Fortunately, the few times you've brought me down there, my shots hit the target. My father's genes, I guess, plus a decade of laser tag. But really Kate, do you think Connor can be convincing as Evans' kind of scum bag?"
"I don't know," Kate admits.
Rick's eyebrows dance. "We could get him a coach. I know a Broadway diva who could teach him how to submerge himself in a character."
"You mean, Martha?"
"Why not, Kate? She's always anxious to try to help with a case. This could be the perfect way for her to do it."
Kate rakes back her hair. "All right. we'll talk to Connors, and then we can talk to Martha and see what happens."