Poison Pen

Chapter 27

"Is that from Diane Cavanaugh's mother?" Castle asks as Kate reviews a text on her cellphone while they wait for Bruce Sonnenfeld to appear.

"Yeah. She moved to Florida a few years after Diane was killed. It took me a while to track her down, but she wants to know who killed her daughter. I'll email her the paperwork when we get back to the precinct tomorrow and she can scan or overnight it back."

"Murray should have more for us in a few days, then," Rick assumes.

"I hope so, Castle." She checks her watch. "Sonnenfeld's shift is up. He drives a green Fusion. With the number of those on the road, it won't be easy following him."

"Blending in is one of the reasons I have Storm drive Fords. It's a lot easier to remain unnoticed with a more pedestrian car. It's also easier to get replacement parts. But the traffic cams will pick up Sonnenfeld's plate if we lose him, won't they?"

"Probably, but getting the feed will take time and won't necessarily tell us where he's going or what he does when he gets there. It will be better if I can stay on his tail. I wish Montgomery had another unit to spare, but…"

"I know, budget cuts. Ooh, is that him?"

"That's his plate. Here we go."

"He's heading uptown," Castle notes. "As I recall, his apartment is in the other direction."

"It is," Kate confirms. "He's not going home. I don't know how long this is going to take. If you need to get back to the loft, I can drop you near the subway."

"Not on your life. Alexis has a physics exam tomorrow, so she'll be curled up with a tome on subatomic particles. Mother is home too. She's studying a character for an audition. And I have a gut feeling that something about this case is going to pop tonight."

"He's turning west. He might be headed up to the Bronx. If he takes 79th Street, he'll be on the route with the least traffic. I'll have an idea where he's going and be able to hang back a little, at least until he picks a neighborhood. Your gut might be right, Castle."

"Unless it's reacting to the takeout we picked up. Those fried noodles were way beyond crisp. Oh, you called it, Kate. Bruce is bound for the Bronx."

Castle eyes the well-manicured grounds around an industrial center. "I was expecting abandoned warehouses providing a home for a hotbed of crime. This looks like half the business parks in this country."

"Except that most of those wouldn't have much activity this time of night. I only see lights on in a few suites. If we park in the shadow of the trees and use infrared, it shouldn't be hard to figure where Bruce is going."

Castle grins at her. I love it when you latch on to modern crime-busting tools. I might put a scene like this in the next book."

"You can't put it in the one you're writing now?" Kate asks.

"The lights would be a problem, but there is much to be said of Heat — or her inspiration — in the dark."

Kate grabs her infrared goggles from the back seat. "We can explore that later. He's pulling up at the building at the far end. I think the lights are in a suite on the sixth floor, and there's a warm body in it. Once Bruce is inside, we can get closer. What are you looking for on your phone?"

"Sixth-floor occupants of that building. There are three businesses with that address, but two of them are satellite offices of large corporations. I'm betting that Bruce is meeting up with someone from Speedy Lifts. A descriptive name."

"Speedy Lifts? Castle, are you kidding me?"

He turns the screen for her to see. "Swear to God."

"This better be important, Sonnenfeld," Milton Fruman declares as Bruce walks into the corner office at Speedy Lifts.

"It is. The police are investigating Dominic's death. They could get too close to us."

"It had nothing to do with us. You know that, Bruce. Greedy little bastard thought he could get big bucks for the book he found. I told him no dice. The guy who owns that thing is not someone to piss off. I warned Dom to send the thing back with an apology, as a way to keep his skin. Either he didn't or his apology wasn't accepted. Whatever happened, we're not part of it."

"I know, Bruce agrees, but if someone comes looking for that book, I could get pulled in. We all could."

Milton shakes his head. "If Dominic didn't have it on him when he was taken out, the killer probably made him spill where it was. There's no way that operation would leave a thing like that floating around. Don't worry about it. Just lay off lifting anything while the cops are still asking questions. Then we can get back to business. You've got a good thing going with us, Bruce. Don't let what happened to that idiot scare you."

"Yeah, I guess you're right," Sonnenfeld agrees. "I don't want to blow my deal now."

Castle watches the lights wink out and Bruce leaving the building, followed by another man. "I wish we could have heard their conversation."

"Yeah, me too," Kate agrees, "but bugging someone without dotting the 'i's and crossing the 't's is a good way to get your evidence thrown out of court. We'll run a check on Speedy Lifts and see what turns up, but I think it's time to call it a night. I'll drop you at the loft."

Rick sighs. "I wish you were staying. I can't think of anything much better than waking up together."

"I'd like that too, Castle, but it's too soon for me to invade your family that way."

"It would hardly be an invasion, Kate. Alexis is cheerleading our relationship. So is Mother. But if you want to work up to it, come for breakfast tomorrow. We could go to the precinct together."

"Isn't that your family time?"

"Alexis will have her nose in a textbook, and mother will be immersed in her character. I'll make waffles, and I have whipped cream and strawberries."

Kate holds up her hand. "All right. You had me at waffles. Seven-thirty?"

"Perfect."

Given Badcock's history, Welborn isn't surprised that the man associated every one of his inkblots with a literary reference. He also wanted to correct the punctuation on one of the written tests. There's no doubt that the man is obsessive. He can report that much, but he's still not sure about what he can say about an inability to distinguish right from wrong.

Badcock has a code. That's clear enough. The question is, how far it strays from reality. The fastest way Welborn can think of figuring it out is to have Badcock write his manifesto. The man's own words should reveal the truth one way or another. He hands his subject a bound notebook and a pen.

Badcock stares disapprovingly at the ballpoint. "I don't suppose you have a fountain pen."

"I'm sorry, no," Wellborn admits. "But, I have a gel pen if you'd prefer it."

"Only incrementally better than a ballpoint," Badcock insists, but grudgingly accepts Wellborn's offering. Simon's already decided that Welborn is as much of a cretin as the other so-called experts he's encountered over the years. His written word, however, will speak for itself.