Poison Pen
Chapter 30
"Got the car," Ryan announces as Kate and Castle step off the elevator at the 12th.
"A Testa Rosa?" Castle asks hopefully.
"Better," Ryan insists, "an Aston Martin DBS V12. Ryan, Kevin Ryan," he adds in a bad imitation of a British accent.
Castle's eyes sweep the detective's pullover and comfortably baggy pants. "I can direct you to my tailor if you'd like to be fitted for a tuxedo."
"That shouldn't be necessary," Kate remarks. "N.Y.P.D. detectives maintain an extensive undercover wardrobe. We should have something that will make Ryan look like he fits in that car."
"Just nothing used for Vice," Ryan warns. "I don't have the legs for short skirts and spike heels."
"I'm not even going to ask how you know that," Castle declares. "Let's get you a reservation at Your Own Corner."
"He'll need a phony identity to go with the car," Kate notes. "Sonnenfeld or anyone else involved will have to think he's worth ripping off."
"Already taken care of," Ryan reveals. "I have one from when I worked undercover five years ago. It's never been blown. The address associated with the legend is a seized estate in Queens used for drug stings. Anyone shows up there; we can grab them."
"Hmm," Castle murmurs, "I'm going to have to write a more talented Raley."
Ryan stares at the writer. "What are you talking about, Castle?"
"Never mind," Kate instructs. "While we're waiting for results from Perlmutter and CSU on the victim from the 54th, let's get this operation underway."
Manley Wellborn studies the output of a program designed to analyze what Badcock wrote in his manifesto. That the author is narcissistic is no surprise. That he has little regard for the thoughts and feelings of others isn't either. He is a killer. That's undisputed. Whether all of that adds up to the legal definition of insanity is still a question. The word count on references to right and wrong is high; the application of the concepts is just horrendously skewed.
There are many situations in which society considers killing acceptable or even laudable. War heroes are honored, as are cops who shoot snipers aiming down on busy streets. Badcock decided to kill those he considered as violating his own standards of good and evil. What it comes down to is grasping societal means. In that, Badcock fails miserably.
Wellborn does not doubt that Badcock's failure is due to mental illness or defect. He has to say so in court. He just hopes that the judge considers Badcock enough of a danger to others to keep him securely locked up, even in a psychiatric facility. He reaches into the drawer of his desk for his bottle of Zantac. Assignments like this always throw his stomach into a rage. Perhaps he should consider a different specialty.
Perlmutter gestures Lanie to the table in the cafeteria of the M.E. facility, where he's enjoying homemade kugel. "Join me, Dr. Parish. I have enough to share, and I wanted to compare notes about the two bodies discovered by Detective Beckett and — that writer."
Lanie rolls her eyes. "Meaning Castle. Sidney, if you got to know him, you'd find out he's a good guy. He's helped Kate, Detective Beckett, a lot. And thanks for the offer, but I'll stick with my salad. I'm off carbs."
"We shouldn't have dilettantes trampling all over our crime scenes," Perlmutter protests, "but Castle is the last person I want to discuss. And it's your loss about the kugel. What did you discover about the weapon used to kill Dominic Farrell?"
"It was what I thought, a barbed blade that can shred organs. The traces of metal in the wound indicate that it was made of A2 steel. I don't see that very often."
Perlmutter forks up another bite of his noodle casserole. "That's because A2 is used for high-grade custom weapons. I found the same trace for Luther Frontiere, the other victim."
"Clark Murray should be coming up with results for Kate's mother and the other body she had exhumed. If there's a match, that weapon and that killer have been tearing people up for a long time. I hope Kate finally stops him."
"I just hope she isn't tripping over Castle while she goes after him," Perlmutter grumbles.
"Sidney, are you jealous?" Lanie wonders.
"Me, no. I'd rather stick with a dog than worry about a woman. But I think Detective Beckett would be perfect for my brother Edgar."
Lanie spears a chunk of tomato. "I wouldn't hold your breath about that, Sidney."
Castle examines the construction of Ryan's suit. "Good thing that you wear a standard size. If you don't look too closely, you can't tell this is off the rack. And the shoes aren't bad either; not handmade, but Italian. In the dark and with the dim lighting in Your Own Corner, you should pass for someone who can afford the Aston Martin."
"Just make sure you take your time eating your dinner. You want to give the valet plenty of time to search the car," Kate urges.
"No problem. I figured it would look less suspicious if I took a date. One of the female detectives I knew when I worked narcotics is going with me."
"Montgomery's head will explode when he sees the expense account for that," Kate predicts, "but it makes sense. Our killer must have had a date with him too. None of the checks I went over was for a single."
"I wonder if he dropped her off or she was in on killing Luther Frontiere," Castle muses.
"If she was, she'd make a hell of a witness," Kate responds, "but with the hits in the book going that far back, the monster is careful."
"A careful monster," Castle considers. "Sounds like a character on some twisted version of 'Sesame Street.'"
Kate's fingernails dig into her palms. "More than twisted."
Sonnenfeld surveys the message from a valet named Niles, one of Fruman's newer recruits. An Aston Martin! And Sonnenfeld's serving the driver and his date. They put in a full order, starting with appetizers. They'll probably be behind the curtains for hours — plenty of time. Fruman wanted the operation to cool down, but the cops are gone. Detective Beckett hasn't called him or any of the other staff he knows about with more questions. The coast should be clear. His thumbs hesitate over his cell's keyboard for a moment. Hell, this could be a great haul. He gives Niles the go.
In a police van parked near the restaurant lot, Kate presses her headphones more tightly against her ears. "You hear something?" Castle asks.
"Papers rustling. Maybe a compartment opening and closing."
Esposito picks up another headset. "The valet's searching the car all right. He'd have to be blind not to find the detailing receipt with the Queens address on it."
Kate nods. "I've got a unit circling the estate, waiting for someone to show up."
"With that transmitter embedded in the $50 that Ryan's going to hand the valet, we shouldn't have any trouble following him if he goes to Fruman," Esposito continues. "And if he or Sonnenfeld just call, our guys will spot Fruman and/or his crew in action."
"Do we get to be in on the takedown?" Castle wonders.
"I wouldn't miss it," Kate declares. "I have a lot of questions for any would-be burglars. It may be more questions than they have ever heard in their lives."
Castle studies the determination on her face. He almost feels sorry for any thieves that end up across the table from her in the box.