Chapter 50

Despite the approach of Thanksgiving, detectives almost fully populate the bullpen. With some literary advice from Rick, Kate is completing her report on the last case they investigated. It didn't take much to close it; Lanie ruled it a suicide. As ever, Rick was interested in the backstory as fodder for his own tales, but unfortunately, the details were all too mundane. The deceased had a small restaurant, barely eking out a profit before the resurgence of the flu. The fall-off in business put the final nail in the eatery's coffin – and the owner's. Rich considers inserting "The business that was his life, became his death," somewhere in a story. But he has yet to figure out where.

Kate presses save and sends a copy of her work to a network printer as well as emailing it to Montgomery. "Well, that's it."

"So, now what? Another cold case?" Rick inquires.

"Coffee first," Kate declares. "It gets chilly in the archives this time of year, and I can use the heat."

Rick's brows ripple above his eyes. "I've never noticed you lacking any, but how about a mocha latte, or better yet, hot chocolate? That always warms the cockles of the heart or any other significant body part. I have the makings in the breakroom on my shelf of culinary magic-makers. And I put a can of whipped cream in the fridge."

Kate pecks his cheek. "Of course you did, but you had me at chocolate."

Rick flashes a triumphant smile. "I always do."

Rick swipes a smidgen of whipped cream off Kate's nose and sucks it off the tip of his finger. "Do you have any idea what cold case you want to tackle?"

"Yeah, I do. It came up early this morning. Mrs. McCready from two floors down knocked on the door while you were on a call about your book. I didn't want to disturb you."

"For future reference," Rick advises, "if I'm in conference with Black Pawn, interruptions are always welcome. But please, continue."

"Maeve McCready said that her 18-year-old daughter, Bridget, was killed on the day before Thanksgiving 15 years ago, and it always gets to her this time of year."

Blood rushes from Rick's face. "If I lost Alexis like that, I'd never even want to think about Thanksgiving again. What happened?"

"That's the worst part. Maeve sent Bridget out to find some leeks for her colcannon. The young woman never made it back. According to Maeve, because of Bridget's age, the police didn't take her disappearance as seriously as they would with a young child. They assumed she was hanging out with friends or off with a guy. By the time the cops got on the stick, it was too late. They discovered Bridget's naked body three days later. She'd been raped and murdered, strangled. The medical examiner found rope burns and ligature marks."

Rick shudders. "No, D.N.A.?"

"I don't know. As upset as Maeve was, I wasn't about to probe for more details. The reports from the primary detective and the M.E. should be in the box.

Rick dumps the last of his drink in the sink. "Then, we're about 15 years late heading for the M aisle."

Pulling a carton from a bottom shelf, Rick blows a layer of dust off the lid. "I don't think anyone's touched this in years."

Kate sighs. "Which makes it no different from a lot of other cases we've seen. The trail, if there is one, goes cold after a few days. You know that. Unless new information comes up, the department primarily sticks with current investigations, just like we've had to for most of the last month." She opens the cardboard container and pulls out the autopsy report. "Let's see what we've got. The M.E. was a Dr. Brunner. I don't know him. Maybe he retired before I joined the department. Perlmutter's been around for more than 15 years. He might have known Brunner. We can ask him."

Rick rolls his eyes. "That'll be fun. What did Brunner find?"

"According to this, no semen, but he did detect spermicide. Apparently, the rapist wore a condom. No pubic hairs except Bridget's. Vaginal tears. He found blood, but the type and subtypes matched Bridget, too. Sh*t!" Kate smacks her palm against the file. "She was a virgin!"

"You OK?" Rick asks. "You want me to finish reading that?"

"I can handle it," Kate asserts, using her finger to scan through the text. "There's not that much more here anyway. Brunner couldn't find any D.N.A. from the killer. An M.E. now might have more luck, but there were no clothes, and the body's been buried for 15 years."

"Clues are found on exhumed bodies after a lot longer than that," Castle points out.

"That's true," Kate agrees. "But we need to go through the detective's report before I think about asking Maeve to put herself through that. And I want to check with Perlmutter about Brunner, and maybe go see him if he's still around. He might be able to tell us if an exhumation would bring us any closer to solving the case."

Rick grabs another folder. "The primary was a Detective Burke Fletcher. Do you know him?"

"I met him. He retired three days after Montgomery brought me in. His partner bought a huge cake. Everybody in the precinct, including me, got a piece."

Rick quickly reads through the rest of his document. "His partner was Hugh Heitner. He's not still here either, is he? I don't recognize the name."

Kate shakes her head. "You wouldn't want to. Heitner's a climber. He kept taking exams, moved up to a job at 1PP. He's pushed a half-dozen plans that drive street cops crazy. I've even heard Montgomery curse him out a couple of times about budget stuff. Heitner's the first one who wants to cut overtime and hours when the department needs to save a few bucks. We should try to interview Fletcher. If he's drawing a pension, the city will have a record of where to send the checks. And we'll have to talk to Perlmutter, too."

"If I get a vote, I'm for questioning Fletcher first," Castle declares.

Shortly after returning to her desk, Kate lays the receiver of her landline back in its cradle. "Fletcher passed away last year. Sorry Babe, time to head for the morgue. But cheer up. Perlmutter's always in a good mood before Thanksgiving. He loves carving turkeys."

Rick smirks. "Why am I not surprised?"

Perlmutter pages through Bridget McCready's autopsy report. "For 1995, Leighton Brunner did a good job. He was always thorough, but there was no CODIS until 1998. Even if he'd found D.N.A. from the killer, he wouldn't have been able to use it without a suspect to match it to. He's still around and still sharp. I saw a letter he sent into last month's issue of Science and Justice. Very insightful. Last time I talked to him, he said he bought a house in Teaneck. He wanted a place big enough for all his grandchildren to run around. If you go see him, tell him I said, 'hello.'"

"I'll do that, Perlmutter," Kate promises.

"Close your mouth, Babe," Kate instructs Rick as they leave the morgue.

"Say hello," Castle repeats. "I've never heard Perlmutter want to extend polite greetings to anyone. It's like he's a Brunner groupie."

"If Perlmutter regards him as an idol, maybe Brunner can tell us something worth a trip to Teaneck."

"They do have some great houses there," Castle remarks. "It won't hurt to take a look. We might have grandkids someday."

"Anything's possible," Kate allows.

Rick's mouth drops open again.