The Other Path Chapter 98
"Hey, Castle," Esposito calls as Rick draws in the aroma of his freshly-made espresso. "How do you like being a house-husband?"
"I'm not a house-husband," Rick retorts. "I'm a working author; a working best-selling author I might add. And tending to my incredible younger daughter while Kate bails you guys out is my pleasure. But when we arrived here Miv was so desperate for my wife's attention that I didn't get the chance to ask her about the search for the bomber. So, how's it going?"
"As soon as Ryan gets out of the john, we're going to pick up the guy Beckett put on the top of the list." Esposito checks the wall clock. "Damn! He must have been in there twenty minutes."
Rick shakes his head. "We warned him against those bean burritos."
"I don't think it was the burritos. Jenny was too exhausted to cook last night so Kevin decided he'd try to make her grandmother's recipe for shepherd's pie. It came out more like a recipe for a gas bomb."
"Eww! I hope Jenny and Sarah Grace are OK."
"They had more sense than Ryan. He said Sarah Grace refused to touch it and Jenny nuked some leftovers. He was the only one who dug in."
"Well. I wish him luck. You too, if you're riding with him."
"Thanks, Bro."
"So, are we going back to Brinkerman and Sons?" Ryan inquires as Esposito pulls their unit into the street.
"Yeah. This guy, Mayweather, works for him. A couple of the other employees said the old man and he are tight, tighter than Brinkerman is with the sons. And Mayweather's got an architecture degree from SUNY Buffalo. Probably froze his ass off getting that."
"Right," Ryan acknowledges. "I remember checking his social media. He reposted a load of crap from that asshole Congressman Cruk. He also posted a lot about keeping the body clean and healthy. A fitness buff wouldn't have much trouble crawling around to plant a bomb."
"And Beckett said she had more on him. She's going to conduct the interview. I hope Castle left some of the good popcorn in the break room."
Ryan presses a hand to his abdomen. "Ugh! No thanks."
Leaning on the sill, Brinkerman gazes out of the window overlooking the parking lot. "The mongrel and the traitor to his race are back," he tells Winston Mayweather.
Mayweather shrugs. "They haven't got anything. The constitution gives us the right to free assembly. We can belong to Rightful Heirs or whatever brotherhood we want."
"Damn right!" Brinkerman agrees. "But what about…?"
"No way they have anything," Winston insists. "Even if they found bomb fragments, they won't have any fingerprints. I wore gloves. And the blast would have destroyed any DNA. If they're here for me, I can cooperate. I put up with all the freaks while I was stuck in f***ing Buffalo. I can deal with moron cops."
Brinkerman claps Winston on the shoulder. "Good man. How are you coming with the next project?"
"Almost finished. I had to get the materials gradually from multiple sources to avoid raising red flags if the cops are ever smart enough to look for them. And I signed out the building plans under an alias. But we should be go within the next 48 hours."
Winston studies the beautiful woman sitting across the table from him in what he assumes is an interrogation room. Her face has almost perfect proportions. But he detects some Eastern European in it. Too bad. The country can use women of pure blood. Still, it's possible she could be brought to see the light. And matched with the right man, she'd bear children who could overcome whatever taint would remain. Picturing what would lead to that scenario, he almost doesn't hear her begin to speak. "Mr. Mayweather, I'm Detective Kate Beckett. I'm sure you know that every law enforcement agency is working overtime to uncover who's behind the bombing of the Dinkins building. As an architect and a member of Rightful Heirs, you fit our profile, as do many other men. In order to eliminate you as a possible suspect, I need to ask you some questions."
"Ask away, Detective," Winston responds with what he believes is an engaging smile.
"Then let's get to it. Where were you when the bomb went off?"
Winston's smile becomes almost genuine. He detonated the bomb from a distance, so it doesn't matter where he was. He can tell her the truth. "Where I usually am on weekends, home."
"And where is that?"
"My apartment at the corner of Henry and Catherine Streets."
"That's only about a mile from Dinkins," Kate points out. "You must have really felt the blast."
Winston struggles to avoid showing his satisfaction. "I did. But the building is solid. It held. We didn't even have any broken windows."
"And no one there was injured?" Kate asks.
Winston pauses for a moment. He doesn't know. Some of his neighbors follow a perverted lifestyle and he avoids them as much as possible. "I'm not aware of any injuries."
"So, you heard the blast. What did you do then?" Kate continues.
"Do?" Winston repeats, remembering downing an excellent German beer. "I suppose what everyone else did: turn on the news to find out what happened."
"And did you," Kate queries, "find out what happened?"
Winston shrugs. "I guess so. What difference does it make?"
"The difference, Mr. Mayweather, is that the news media had no idea what happened when the blast went off. They had almost no information for at least a half-hour. And it was several more hours before they had anything solid. Most people called their loved ones and checked on their neighbors. Why didn't you?"
Winston tugs at the tie that is required attire for all of Brinkerman's employees. "I don't know. I mean I don't remember. An explosion like that can be quite a shock."
"Yes it can," Kate agrees. "Still, a lot more of one to the families of the victims of the explosion. But let's move on. How's your garden, Mr. Mayweather?"
Winston stares at Kate in confusion. "Garden? I told you I live in an apartment."
"Most New Yorkers do," Kate acknowledges. "But some have roof gardens or community plots. Kate opens her folder and lays a document on the table. You bought fertilizer from five different gardening centers and big box stores. If you don't have a garden, what did you use it for?"
"Uh, that was some landscaping for a client."
"What client?"
"I'd have to check my records."
Kate lays out more documents. "And how about the powdered aluminum, was that for a client too?"
"I don't remember," Mayweather insists.
"Really, Mr. Mayweather?" Kate inquires. "Do you often make random purchases, like fuel oil?"
"I'm not answering any more questions without a lawyer," Winston declares.
Kate nods. "That's the first thing you've said in quite a while that makes sense."
As Kate leaves the box, Esposito charges away from Observation. "That piece of sh*t did it! He killed those people!"
"You got him, Beckett," Ryan agrees. "He's the sonofabitch who took down that building."
Layla Medina adds her voice. "You nailed him, Detective Beckett."
"His coffin isn't sealed yet," Kate cautions. "A good lawyer will come up with some explanation for why he needed that stuff. And having the components for a bomb doesn't prove he built one or set it off. We need to scrub every second of video between his apartment, his work, and the Dinkins building. Search Brinkerman and Sons. Mayweather might have built the bomb there. And we need to check for anything he could have used as a detonator. And we'll want to check his internet use. See if he looked up bomb building. Check his school records for chemistry classes. This case needs to be so tight an atom bomb couldn't blow it apart."
"What about Fallon?" Esposito wonders.
"I'll brief him unless Gates wants to do it. He's got more resources than we do and chances are he'll want to see Mayweather hang by his thumbs – or other body parts. Now is when we get all the feds on board."
