Flu
Chapter 64
Rick rubs his hands together as Kate starts her loaner. "Garcia is the connection we needed, isn't he?"
Kate pulls out of her parking spot. "He should be. He saw Frees in proximity to Bridget before the murder. That cuts down the list of suspects who could have made the leather used to strangle her to one, or at least one that's reasonable. But we don't have a motive."
"Does a creeper like Frees need a motive? Did monsters like Ted Bundy or Albert DeSalvo have one? Frees gets off on killing, Kate. Even the most by-the-book detective couldn't doubt that. Look, it's a lousy day to be out on the links. We can probably catch Judge Markway at court for at least a couple of hours yet."
"You're right," Kate agrees. "With what we know now, it won't take me long to put together an affidavit. We'll need a current location on Frees, so we can grab him once Markway signs on the dotted line."
"You fill in the blanks on the form. I'll track the sonofabitch down."
"I've got him!" Rick shouts from his spot at Bruce's desk. "Kate, I reached Frees' assistant, Scott Dempsey, at Specialty Outdoor Gear LLC. I told him I was calling for a group of writers interested in the survivalist experience. That much is true, sort of. We have a subgroup in the Mystery Writers Association that studies those details to use them for our characters. It's come in handy in getting Storm out of a couple of tight spots. And it gives me something to yell at the screen when I watch old MacGyver episodes. Anyway, Scott said Frees was in conference and couldn't be disturbed, but would get back to me. For all we know, Frees is sitting in his office cuddling his gun, but he's there."
"Great!" Kate types a final sentence. "I've got this done. Let's hit the courthouse."
"What the f**k do you mean Beckett and Castle won't be there until late tomorrow morning?" Frees spews into the phone.
A coughing spasm wracks Heitner before he can croak a reply. "Late tomorrow morning at the earliest. Support Services is doing some repairs on the car Beckett's assigned. That's when she'll be picking it up."
"I can't wait that f*****g long!" Frees protests.
"You'll have to," Heitner retorts, "and you'll need the opportunity to set up your shots. The only time you'll have a clear line of sight is when Beckett and Castle are in the yard. The place is barbed-wire fenced with a cop at the gate. It's also covered by cameras. You'll have to shoot from the top of a commercial building on the west side. You should scope it out now while you still have some daylight left. I'll text you the address."
Frees' jaw clenches. "Text it fast, and you'd better be right about this."
"Mr. Frees isn't here, Detective," Scott Dempsey protests.
Kate pushes past the young man, with Castle and two uniformed officers trailing her. "I'll have to check that for myself. Gun in hand, Kate yanks open a door labeled Holland Frees, to find an empty room. "Clear!" She moves on to an attached executive bath, also finding it empty.
"Where is Frees?" Kate demands, returning to Dempsey.
Blood drains from the assistant's face. "Detective, I swear I don't know. He blew out of here 5 minutes before you arrived and told me to cancel his calls and appointments until further notice. He didn't say where he was going."
"Do you have his home address?" Kate questions.
"Yes, of course. I'll get it for you, but I don't think he was going home," Dempsey adds.
"Why not?" Castle queries.
"Because he takes calls and sometimes does those 'Go to Meeting' things at home. He had one scheduled for tomorrow with Super Sports. We could really use that account, and Mr. Frees wants it. Only a crisis would make him blow an opportunity to get it. What's all this about? What did Mr. Frees do?"
"I can't discuss details of an ongoing case, but," Kate digs a card out of her pocket and shoves it at Dempsey, "if you hear from him, contact me immediately. And I'll be leaving a team here in case he returns."
That it takes less than two minutes to clear Frees' apartment doesn't surprise Kate, but while she hasn't located her suspect, his flat may be a treasure trove of evidence. A call to Markway gets her an expansion on her search warrant. She'll need C.S.U. to confirm the significance of what she finds, but Frees' cabinet full of handmade leather goods should further tie him to Bridget McCready's murder.
Castle opens the doors of Frees' armory. "Looks like a gun is missing, a pretty big one." Squatting, he pulls open a drawer at the bottom. "Kate, look at this!"
Kate stares down at neatly folded Tyvek. "It's a hazmat suit. That's how he kept from shedding D.N.A. on Bridget." She snaps a picture before removing the garment from its place.
Rick points to a valve-like closure at the groin level. "That's how he did it, Kate. He put on a condom and stuck his…"
"I get the picture," Kate interrupts.
"I wonder if he saved the suit all this time as a trophy from Bridget," Castle muses, as he pulls the drawer out further. "Oh, sh*t! That bastard! These are his trophies, pieces of fabric cut from the clothes of prey he stripped naked, like his slaughtered deer. They can't all be from Bridget. There could be fragments of apparel here from at least ten women. Maybe he has some from Heitner's victims too."
"They'll have D.N.A. on them from both killer and victim. Close the drawer, Babe. I'll seal the scene until C.S.U. gets here. And I'll put out a BOLO on Frees."
Rick slowly rises to a stand. "I hope he's not out stalking someone else."
After scaling countless trees and other vantage points of his woodland hunting grounds, a ladder to a roof shouldn't bother Frees, even with carrying his pack. But he feels a little shaky. Is it Heitner's flu or a surge of adrenaline? He hopes it's the latter. Either way, he'll do what he has to do. The building is topped with a layer of gravel. As far as Frees can tell, it's undisturbed. Good. No one comes up here. Whatever he leaves behind will remain unnoticed. He'll need something to sit or lie on. He has a tarp in his rook sack that should work. It won't be comfortable, but a little discomfort helps him stay alert.
Heitner was right about the line of sight into the yard surrounding the warehouse-like structure used to maintain N.Y.P.D. vehicles. Frees can line up his shot directly at the main entrance to the building. After his quarry approach that door, they'll never approach anything again. He calculates his rifle placement as precisely as he can. If the wind shifts, he may have to adjust his position. He attaches a thin rod to a corner of the roof to hold his windsock, but he won't fly it until the last minute. With cops coming in and out of the area, someone might spot it. His scope gives him a good view of the cop guarding the gate. The sentry doesn't glance up at all. No one entering the building does either. Frees doesn't have to worry about his windsock. Most New Yorkers keep their heads down and get on with their business. That's a trait the killer will use to his advantage. Damn, the breeze is cold! He needs some coffee, or better still, a stiff drink. He'll have to be sober tomorrow to squeeze the trigger, but that is many hours away.
