Poison Pen

Chapter 8

"Are we going to follow him?" Castle asks when Simon drops money on the table for his check and heads for the door.

Kate automatically glances at her watch. "It's rush hour, Castle. The traffic will be moving slowly enough for him to spot us. We don't have another unit standing by to play leapfrog, and for all we know, he could be the wrong guy. We know where to find him, and you made sure that he won't be surprised if he sees us here again. Let's try for an ID and see where we go from there."

"Just as well," Rick agrees. "Alexis was making a presentation to the Science Fiction Club at school this afternoon, and I want to find out how it went."

"What kind of presentation? I hope the kids aren't caught up in the Marvel versus DC debate."

"Wow! That argument had been going on for years even when I was her age, but apparently, the club members at Marlowe Prep have agreed to a comic book wars truce. She'll be talking about the difference between quantum entanglement and the Star Trek model for teleportation. She's calling it 'Spooky Explorations.'

"Is Alexis planning on majoring in physics?" Kate wonders.

"She's only a sophomore in high school. She doesn't have to worry about a college major yet, but her freshman year she had a crush on a kid who worshipped Stephen Hawking as a god, so she buried herself in physics for a while. When she gets into something, she gets into it all the way. If her next heartthrob is into economics, she could build a shrine to Paul Krugman. I might be able to go to her for better investment advice than I get from my business manager. Or if she picks a guy headed for culinary school, I could put on 30 pounds."

"That's all right, Castle. I can always take you to the police gym with me to work it off."

Mental images of a hot and sweaty Beckett swirl through Castle's brain as the scene morphs from a gym to a more intimate venue. He chugs what's left of his rapidly cooling tea. "Back to the precinct, then?"

"I sent my photos to Ryan to get facial recognition started, but I want to be there if we get a match."

"Me too," Castle decides.

Castle stares at the information that appears under their suspect's photo. "Simon Badcock? His name is Simon Badcock? No wonder he likes aliases. I wonder why he didn't change it legally." Castle pulls out his phone. "Google. History. Surname, Badcock. Ooh, it seems that a few generations back, there was a Badcock in the 1800s who was a literary light of sorts. According to this article, his work went largely unappreciated by his contemporaries, but there have been several treatises since, extolling the merits of his writings."

Kate's fingertips worry her bottom lip. "That fits. He kept the name in honor of his ancestor and goes after Poe Award winners as stand-ins for writers in the past, who received the recognition he felt should have gone to his family. It's a motive, a sick one, but a motive."

"And it springs from the Victorian era," Castle adds, "which jibes with his choice of restaurant. Our Mr. Badcock does not appear to have authored anything himself. Perhaps he considers his choice of murder weapons as the outlet for an inherited creative bent."

"Well, he's not going to get a chance to dream up another one. The address listed for him is in Bedford Stuyvesant. I'll get a unit over there from the 79th to watch for him until I can set up surveillance. So far, we don't have any evidence strong enough to bring him in on a murder charge, and I'm not about to see some judge cut him loose on a technicality. Now that we have a name, we can use the information the boys got on purchases of blarina toxin. If Badcock is on the list, that's more than probable cause to question him and get a search warrant for his apartment."

"What if he used another alias?" Castle queries.

"He still would have had to pick it up or have it shipped to him. He's left a trail of breadcrumbs somewhere."

"Probably from tiny roast beef sandwiches," Castle quips.

"Badcock?" Esposito repeats when Kate finds him sharing Chinese food with Ryan in the break room. "I don't have to look at the list for that one, Beckett. It would," he snorts, "stand out."

Ryan reaches for the last sparerib before his partner can grab it. "He's right, Beckett. We didn't find a name anything like that, but the file with the list is on my desk if you want to grab it."

Kate skims the contents of Ryan's folder on the way back to her own desk, where Castle is scrolling through the email on his phone. "Everything OK?"

"Yeah. Probably. I thought Alexis might have sent me something after her presentation, but there's nothing here. I'll ask her about it when I get home. It's getting late. I should leave soon. Did the boys have anything on Badcock?"

"No, but I have the list of everyone that bought blarina toxin. Nothing jumps out at me. You want to take a look before you go?"

"Sure," Castle agrees. He rapidly takes in the names as he runs his finger down the list. "This one, Beckett, Phillip Larkin. He was a poet and novelist. He declined an offer to be poet laureate of England and preferred to work as a librarian. Badcock might pick the name of someone who loved books that much as an alias."

"Larkin isn't that uncommon a name, Castle. It could be a coincidence. You get out of here. I'll check it out. Let me know how things went for Alexis."

Castle smiles as he pushes out of his chair. "Thanks, Beckett. I will."

The aroma of lasagna reaches Castle's nose, even before he unlocks the door of his loft. Good. That means that Alexis heated up the pan of pasta he left in the freezer, for her dinner. Not that the fifteen-year-old isn't capable of taking care of herself. With Mother at the theater, there's little chance of another bout of gastrointestinal distress. Still, it's nice to know that his daughter took advantage of what he left for her. He might even have some later himself. Badcock might have found his meal at the tearoom filling, but Castle prefers heartier fare.

After quickly climbing the stairs to the mezzanine, Rick knocks on the door of Alexis' room. "Pumpkin?"

His daughter's voice sounds through the door. "Just a second, Dad."

"It's more than a second before Alexis opens the door. Castle notes a flush on her usually pale cheeks above the broad smile on her lips. "I gather you escaped entanglement with your quanta."

For a moment, Alexis' ginger brows descend in puzzlement. "Oh, right. My presentation. It went fine."

"Anything else interesting happen today?" Castle inquires.

"Dad, Owen asked me."

"That's great! Who is Owen, and what did he ask you?"

"He's just the cutest boy in the school, and he likes Star Wars and Laser Tag and Hayley Blue and Stephano's pizza — all the things that I love."

"And he asked you…" Castle presses.

"To go to the junior prom."

"You're not a junior. How old is this, Owen?"

"He's my age, Dad. Our birthdays are only two days apart. But he skipped a year, so he's a junior. Can I go? Please?"

"Alexis, you know I like to know who your friends are before you go anywhere with them and proms — things can happen at proms. If he's taking you, I need to meet him first."

Alexis' pale eyes darken. "Dad, don't you dare embarrass me!"

Castle cups his daughter's cheek. "I won't. I promise. Tell you what. I'll be giving a talk after school tomorrow to the creative writing club. There will be cookies afterward. You can arrange for a casual meeting when I'll have my mouth too full to ask disconcerting questions." He raises his hand for a high-five. "Deal?"

Sighing, Alexis completes her half of the move. "Deal."