Flu

Chapter 33

"Well, we shook him up," Rick concludes as he joins Kate in her unit. "Did you see Mudd's face? It was purple! You think he murdered Mitchell Beeman?"

"I don't know," Kate admits. "It could have been Grundig."

"So, what now?"

Kate picks up her phone. "We get the locals to keep an eye on them, in case they decide to make a run for it. And we scrub all the video within blocks of the crime scene for a sign of either of them. I'll put Ryan and Esposito on the traffic cams to look for their cars. You and I both had a chance to get a good look at Grundig and Mudd. Whoever went after Beeman might have been disguised somehow. We check all the other shots, not just for their faces, but for body types, and the way they move."

"Got it," Rick said. "But we are coming up on the holiday, Kate. We can't expect the boys to spend the whole time at the precinct. We shouldn't either. After this, Alexis goes back to school. It's the last gasp of summer. We should mark it somehow."

Finding Mitchell Beeman's killer would mark it, but I see your point," Kate concedes. "What did you have in mind?"

"We've been so busy, I haven't had time to think it out," Rick admits. "But my brain can whir as we traverse the route to Manhattan."

Kate turns the ignition key. "Then start it whirring."

Rubbing the back of his neck, Rick takes an unappetizing sip of aging coffee. Unfortunately, there's no video of the park or the crime scene, and he hasn't been able to spot anyone in the area who looks like Grundig or Mudd – until now. His chair scrapes against the floor of Tech as he lunges toward Kate. "I've got him!"

"Got him, which one?" Kate asks.

"The arrogant hulking bulk of Harriman Mudd. He dressed down to fit his tool. Remember what Juan Cara told us about the leather case on his belt, with the handle sticking out of it? This guy has one. And he's holding a Fudgy-Bar!"

"You can't see much of his face, Babe. He's turned away from the camera."

"But you can see his ear. Look, he's wearing a diamond stud like the one he had on when we saw him. Some guys just can't resist flashing it around."

"Like writers who carry money clips full of hundred-dollar bills."

Rick's cheeks redden. "Touché. Juan Cara said he isn't good with faces, but we have a view of everything except the face here. He should be able to make an identification."

Kate's out of her seat before Rick finishes his sentence. "I'll grab a couple of screen captures. Let's go track down his truck."

Rick pulls his phone from his pocket. "No problem, I found a new app for that. Bringing up 'Where's my Ice Cream?"

Juan Cara stares intently at the pictures. "Yes, that's the man who bought the Fudgy-Bar. That was the tool, and I remember the earring too. I thought a diamond looked strange for a man walking around in a tool belt, but this city is full of strange."

Rick digs into a brownie fudge sundae. "What's really strange is hating ice cream."

"A lot of my customers went vegan. I got bars made out of frozen tofu."

Rick wrinkles his nose. "Ugh! That's almost as disgusting as Mother's wheatgrass smoothies."

"I've had them," Kate claims, "they're not that bad."

The smoothies or the tofu bars?" Castle asks.

"Both. So Mr. Cara, are you willing to testify that this is the man who gave you the five-dollar bill for the Fudgy-Bar?"

Juan straightens, throwing back his shoulders. "I'm a citizen. It's my duty."

Kate extends her hand. "I wish everyone felt that way, Mr. Cara."

"What's our next step?" Rick asks as he and Kate make the short walk back to her unit.

"Getting warrants to arrest Harry Mudd and to search his house and car. I'll have to work with the locals to pick him up, but with Juan's I.D., the D.A.'s office will have enough to charge him. We'll get his D.N.A., too, and match it to the Fudgy-Bar wrapper. He already fits the phenotype, but so does Grundig. If we find the saw, we have a lock, but a good prosecutor should be able to convince the jury even without one. Eli Douglas should be back when Montgomery is."

"Doesn't he have a full enough caseload with the Scarpellas?" Rick wonders.

"Maybe," Kate allows, "but I'd love to see him take a crack at Mudd."

"If he has any time to spare, he's more likely to be taking a crack at a red-headed cop, the one who played decoy for Leo DeNuncio, Lana Springer."

"How do you figure that?" Kate asks.

Rick rolls his eyes. "Kate, for a detective, it's amazing how you can miss the obvious. He hasn't been able to take his eyes off her since they met. I probably had that same stunned look when I met you. The man's been hit by the thunderbolt."

"I don't believe in thunderbolts, except for the ones caused by differences in electrical charge," Kate declares.

Rick pulls her into his arms. "Then it's a good thing that I do."

The Anderson family group meets up early enough to grab a section of seating to see the Canadian band, Rush. Neither Evelyn nor Roy would have customarily bought tickets to see them in concert, but he appreciates the riffs, and she can actually make out the lyrics. As ways to spend an evening go, she's had much worse.

The sun's been down for a while, and Harry is beginning to relax. The police detective may look hot, but she can't burn him. He shouldn't have been nervous in the first place. She hasn't got anything. But he wishes he'd done a better job getting rid of the hacksaw. He pulled the telltale blade out of the handle and buried it in the backyard to meet a rusty end. But perhaps he should have thrown it into Lake Shenorock. He loves the rhythm of the name, Shenorock. He could dig it up and make the trip there in the morning. He'll enjoy the complete destruction of Detective Beckett's case.

Kate gazes through binoculars at the staging area around the bend in the road from Mudd's ostentatious dwelling. "He's heading for his car!" She thumbs a button on her radio. "Move in now!" A cordon of officers surges forward to surround the house, and units block Mudd's entry to the road. Kate goes to the window of Harry Mudd's car, her weapon steady in a two-handed grip. "Hands where I can see them. Out of the car, Harry. Open the door from the outside and come out slowly."

Mudd looks down at the towel-wrapped hacksaw blade on the seat beside him. Damn! He should have left it in the ground. He's left the corpses of enough dead companies behind him to know that what's buried should stay buried.

"On the ground, hands on your head," Kate orders.

Facedown and breathing the dust of the road, Harry searches desperately for an explanation of what even the dumbest cop can find in his car. He's still trying to think of one as Detective Beckett reads him his rights and loads him in a transport to Manhattan. But the silver tongue that has parted so many from their money can't wrap itself around a single useful word.

A/N New York is on Eastern Time, and Minnesota is on Central Time, so it would be an hour earlier there.