Under and Over Chapter 26
"Anything pop while I was gone?" Rick asks, plunking down bags of burgers and fries in the middle of the conference table.
Kate grabs a fry sticking out of one of the bags. "Lanie put the TOD between 11 am and 2 pm. So we ordered the traffic cam footage for three square blocks. It should be arriving in an hour or so."
"Which will finally give us time to eat," Rick notes, checking the wrappers on the food. He hands a burger with a red X on it to Esposito. "This one has the jalapeños. Apparently, it was a unique request, Remy's had to scrounge the peppers they use for poppers."
"Nobody else around here has taste," Esposito asserts.
"Or an iron mouth," Ryan retorts. "Did you bring mayonnaise for the fries?"
As Esposito snorts his disgust, Rick tosses Ryan a packet and holds up his fingers in a Vulcan salute. "IDIC. Infinite diversity in infinite combinations. Actually, not so infinite. Everyone else gets ketchup. But then it never did make sense that the acronym for a word from another planet should be in English letters. I don't know how Roddenberry got away with that one."
"Pre-internet," Kate guesses. "A lot easier to get away with gaffes back then. If he'd done it now he would have been deluged by tweets pointing out the lack of logic."
"You're probably right, and with modern technology, hopefully, it's a lot harder to get away with murder now, too. While we're awaiting the traffic footage, any other clues? Did Lanie recover any bullets?"
"Thirty of them, 5.56 X 45 mm."
"That's military ammo," Esposito inserts. "A civilian version would use .223 Remington."
"Your run-of-the-mill drug thug wouldn't have military training, would he?" Rick asks.
"Not usually," Ryan replies. "Most of the time these guys grow up in the hood and stay there. Whoever shot Turnbull might have been hired help."
"Which I imagine wouldn't come cheap," Rick offers.
"Someone with money and resources arranged the hit," Kate adds, "and wanted to make it bloody enough to discourage other competitors. But we'll need to get the shooter before we can find out who's pulling the strings. So the minute the video comes in, we start scrubbing."
"Damn subway station's only a block away. Why is there so much traffic?" Rick complains, viewing the stream of cars on Amsterdam Avenue.
"They could be headed for Yeshiva University or somewhere in Little Dominican Republic," Kate figures. "There might be stickers or something on the cars that would indicate one or the other. You can use those to eliminate possibilities. And the LPR can help to filter some possible suspects like students and local business people."
Rick gives a little shudder. "As grateful as I am for the help, isn't the idea of having your license plate automatically scanned a little 1984ish?"
"At least we're on the right side of the scanner," Kate replies.
"Yeah for now. Ooh, wait. Crossed arrows. Espo, isn't that a special forces insignia?"
Esposito studies the image. "More like a knockoff. The arrows are the wrong shape. Sometimes militias use crap like that because they want to look like the real thing. Some of those jerks get turned down by the military but like to pretend they were over there."
"But why would a shooter announce himself that way?" Rick wonders.
"I've met assholes like that. They get their rocks off by playing soldier," Esposito explains. "Sometimes they convince themselves they're the real thing. But I don't know if a guy like that would take out a minor drug dealer."
"What if he fooled himself into thinking he was working for a greater cause?" Rick queries. "Could someone with a lot of power convince him that it was the patriotic thing to do, that he was actually serving his country?"
"It's possible," Esposito considers.
"So he'd want an insignia on his car," Rick continues, "to do what he considers his duty."
"Maybe," Esposito allows. "There's LPR on the plate. The car's registered to a Leonard Philpot."
"We'll go have a talk with Mr. Philpot," Kate announces.
Leonard carefully cleans his gun and checks the action before putting it on the rack he built into the tiny closet of his small East Village apartment. His rifle and other weapons don't leave much room for his clothes. But then he doesn't need much. He's lived in New York City most of his life, except when he was away training. But he's not one of those New Yorkers who put on fancy suits and strut into the theater and fancy restaurants. He likes a good movie on the big screen now and then. He enjoyed Battle Force very much, imagining himself fighting for his life. But he lives simply, saving his money for training trips and contributing to the cause. In fact, when he was asked to serve, he would have removed one of the scum poisoning his country for free. But the money was great. It will pay for his next three training trips and more time on the range.
Leonard's not surprised by the knock on his door. Old Mrs. Finnerty from down the hall often needs his help with something like changing a lightbulb, that the super won't get around to doing. She knocks instead of calling because her hearing aids don't work with her phone. He closes his closet and goes to peer through his peephole.
The woman standing in the hall is definitely not Mrs. Finnerty. She won't even come close for another forty years or more. The knockout is probably selling magazines or something. Leonard is not about to buy any, but he can enjoy looking at her while she gives her pitch. He enthusiastically pulls open the door.
Kate holds up her badge. "Leonard Philpot, I'm Detective Kate Beckett." She points to Rick who was standing out of range of the peephole. "This is Mr. Castle. I have a few questions. May we come in?"
Leonard's gut tightens. The detective couldn't possibly know about his mission. The police don't care about getting the scourges of society off the streets. But it wouldn't look good not to let her in. And she is beautiful. She smells nice too. He pulls the door open wide and waves his visitors inside to a table that just fits in what passes for a kitchen. "Please have a seat." Kate and Rick both settle into the downsized wooden chairs that go with the table. Leonard hastily sits with them. "Now, Detective Beckett, and Mr. Castle, was it? What can I do for you?"
Kate pulls a print of a screen capture out of her large leather purse. "Mr. Philpot, is this your car?"
Leonard's mouth goes dry as he examines the image, but he tries his best to keep a smile on his face. "It looks like it. And that's my license plate. Why?"
Kate ignores his question. "This was taken in Washington Heights, about 12 miles from here. What were you doing up there, Mr. Philpot?"
Leonard's brain spins, searching for an answer. "I was checking out apartments. Little Dominican Republic is one of the few places left in the city that's rent-stabilized. I thought maybe I could move up."
"What apartments did you look at?" Kate asks.
"I don't remember. Nothing was what I wanted."
Kate nods. "I see. Do you remember who you talked to?"
"I'm sorry, Detective. I don't usually get names unless I need them. And that was a wasted trip."
"And how long have you been home?"
"A few hours, maybe. It's my day off from work, so I haven't been watching the clock."
"And where do you work?"
"Morton Williams on 2nd Street. I stock shelves."
Kate pushes out of her chair, signaling Rick to do the same. "All right, Mr. Philpot. I think that's all I need. Thank you for your time."
"Always glad to assist the police, Detective Beckett, but what was this all about?" Philpot questions.
Kate strides the three steps it takes to reach the door. "I can't comment on an ongoing investigation, but thank you again, Mr. Philpot."
"You think he was lying?" Rick asks as he and Kate descend time-worn wooden stairs.
"I'm sure of it. In this city, no one forgets the details of apartment hunting. And right now, he has almost no commute. If he moved to the Heights he'd spend a lot of time in traffic or on a train. And his place smelled of gun oil. We need to learn more about Leonard."