Flu

Chapter 92

Eyes gleaming with moisture, Dibney reaches for a tissue from the nearest box. "Yes, I remember that case. I don't know how anyone could forget it. I saw that poor little girl lying there, like a tiny angel slipped from her cloud, losing her shoe on her fall to earth."

"She didn't slip from anywhere, Detective Dibney. According to the autopsy report, she had no broken bones," Kate responds.

"But she had the kind of bruises a person gets when they flail against the ground, seizing," Rick continues. "That may be how she lost a shoe. From the crime scene pictures, the grass wasn't disturbed. She didn't die there."

"She was poisoned," Kate continues, "with strychnine, but there was none in her stomach. The M.E. thought she inhaled it. But she would have had to be around a hell of a lot of it to be killed that way. Then someone, possibly the murderer, brought her to the park where you found her."

"Yes, I remember all that," Dibney acknowledges. "But there were no clues to who brought her. Back then, we didn't have cameras everywhere. No one was snapping pictures to post on the web, either. And the patch of grass where we found her was surrounded by trees. The M.E. thought she could have been there for at least a day before a dog walker stumbled on her. There was no rigor. That's why she looked so peaceful.

"Look, I did everything I could to identify that poor child. D.N.A. wasn't that big a thing yet. No CODIS. I had the TV stations show her picture. I sent it to other jurisdictions. There were hundreds of tips, but none of them panned out. You have a lot more tools than I did. Maybe you can succeed where I failed. I hope so."

Kate puts her hand on Dibney's. "We hope so too."


"Think Osnitz will put a rush on the D.N.A.?" Rick wonders after sinking into his seat next to Kate's desk. "He owes us. Hell, he owes our whole family for keeping his ass out of a sling."

"He said he'd move on the testing as fast as he could," Kate reminds her husband, "but cold cases don't get priority. You know that."

"I do," Rick concedes, "but what do we do until the results come back? Going to the park is useless now. Thousands of people and dogs have probably been through there since Jane Doe was dumped. Damn! We need something better than that to call her. How about Mary Jane, for the shoe?"

Kate shrugs. "If it makes you happy."

"Nothing about this case makes me happy. Kate, who would let a child near a load of strychnine? Wait, maybe that's a starting point. Where would you find enough strychnine to kill a child who breathed it?" Rick yanks his phone out of the Pendleton plaid jacket he has over his shirt. "Strychnine. Hmm. Years ago, people used it a lot to kill rodents, but not as much anymore. There are safer poisons, especially around kids. Still back then, a lot of people would have bought it."

"But it wouldn't take that much of it to kill a rat," Kate considers. "Someone was killing a lot of pests. Maybe Mary Jane was around an exterminator."

Frowning, Rick shakes his head. "I researched exterminators when I created the character of Bedbug Doug. They're licensed, Kate, and they have to take all kinds of precautions. An exterminator would lock strychnine up tight. If there was a complaint that a kid could get near it, he could lose his business. How about a private groundskeeper, like at an estate? I know people in the Hamptons who have them. They can be certified, but they don't have to be. And they'd be killing all kinds of unwelcome wildlife, especially on grounds near woods."

"But wouldn't a child from an estate be reported missing?" Kate argues. "Someone with a home like that could hire an army of detectives."

"The owner could," Rick agrees, "but not an employee. You wouldn't believe how tightfisted some of the neighbors out there are. They're not exactly fans of high wages. And if Mary Jane's parents were undocumented or in some kind of trouble…"

"They'd be afraid to go to the police. But Babe, the Hamptons isn't the only place with estates. There are homes like that all over the state, and in New Jersey, Connecticut, the whole metro area. Where do we start?"

"How about with companies that sold pesticides with strychnine in them, around the time Mary Jane was killed? Salespeople have great memories for good customers. They also have great contacts lists. Hey, I was the entertainment of sorts at a luncheon of the Greater New York Chamber of Commerce. I know a couple of people we could talk to there. It would be a start. Ooh! I can invite them to Imagination Patch for chili and pie. It's been my observation of late that the combination tends to stimulate the flow of conversation," he wiggles his eyebrows, "among other things."

Kate snorts. "You don't say. And you better not bring it up with them. But all right, Babe, make your calls."


Lionel Zybert holds up a large spoonful of chili. "Castle, "I've got to say, this hits the spot. You've got a winner here, and considering the odds against success for a new eatery, that is amazing!"

"Lionel is right," Windom Wheatley agrees. "You should go to the next restaurant owner's roundtable to explain how you did it."

"It would be a short explanation," Castle responds. "I hired the right manager, Mark Newhouse. I could send him – if he ever has the time. I work him, or more to the point, he works himself, pretty hard. But I didn't invite you here just to show off the place. You know that I consult with the N.Y.P.D. My wife, Detective Beckett," Rick bows slightly toward Kate, "and I are working on a cold case, a little girl that was killed in 1995. We need to know who would have sold pesticides with strychnine in them and who bought them. And we're probably looking at non-commercial use."

"1995," Windom repeats. "You don't make it easy, do you, Castle? Detective Beckett, you should talk to Bob Skillis at Boccinello Chemicals. They've been the major distributor to private buyers for 35 years, and Bob's been there for at least 20. He should be able to steer you in the right direction. Now, Castle, you said something about pie?"

Laugh lines fan from Rick's eyes. "Yes, I did! Whatever you want."

"I can recommend the chocolate chiffon with the cookie crust," Kate adds.

"Detective Beckett," Windom responds, "I may just take that recommendation."


Kate scowls as she puts down her phone. "Bob Skillis is on vacation. He took his grandchildren down to Disney World. He's supposed to be back on Monday."

Rick wraps his arms around her, brushing her hair with his lips. It is Friday, Kate, and…"

Castle's cellphone buzzes. His eyebrows rise as he looks at the I.D. "Mr. Castle, this is Professor Gilly. Your daughter Alexis told me that you consult on murders for the N.Y.P.D. I believe I might have one for you."

Rick thumbs his speaker icon. "You have a murder? Do you have a dead body Professor?"

"I wish it were that simple, Mr. Castle. I can explain it to you and to your detective wife if you can come to my office at the university."

As Rick's eyes meet Kate's, she nods. "Yes, Professor Gilly. We can do that."