Poison Pen

Chapter 31

"What's your husband doing tonight, Bridget?" Ryan askes his dining companion as she samples a stuffed mushroom.

Detective O'Malley closes her eyes, savoring the umami for a moment before reaching for another appetizer. "He has a family dinner. The O'Malleys are a big clan. He has three brothers and a sister, Jenny. He said something about cheering her up because she just broke up with her boyfriend. I think you'd like her. She's a lot like you — heart of mush."

"Oh, come on, Bridget," Ryan begs, "I'm here on the job, not for a fix-up."

"I'm telling you, Kevin, I think you two would be a perfect match. Tell you what. Jenny's at the Shamrock Pub Friday nights. She likes to watch the darts games. I know you like to play. Why not toss a few and see what happens. You could even bring that macho partner of yours to drag you out of there if you don't click with her."

Ryan dips a hunk of bread in a shallow dish of oil. "You're not giving up on trying to matchmake, are you?"

"I like Jenny, and sometimes I even like you. And if she's happy, my husband will stop worrying about her. So what do you say, Kevin? Play a little, down a couple, and see what happens?"

Ryan shrugs, sighing. "I might as well. You're not going to lay off me until I do."

"It's been almost an hour since that valet searched the car and sent his messages," Kate notes. "Someone should be showing up in Queens by now." Her text alert echoes from the van's metal walls. "There's an SUV pulling up by a back door of the estate. That's got to be Fruman's crew."

"Are you going to send your people after them, Beckett?" Castle inquires.

"So far, we don't have anything except trespassing. We want to catch those guys with their hands in the cookie jar. We'll give it a few minutes before the team moves in, but I want to head down there now."

"I'm going to stay here to back up Ryan," Esposito decides.

"Good idea," Kate agrees. "You stay in the van. Castle and I will take my unit. If this goes down the way we think, you and Ryan can meet us at the 12th."

The opening notes of Phantom of the Opera emanate from Castle's phone as Kate picks up Grand Central Parkway. "That's Murray. He must be working late. You want me to put it on speaker?"

Kate feels a layer of moisture forming between the palms of her hands and the steering wheel and does her best to ignore it. "Yeah, go ahead, Castle."

"Rick," Murray's voice rises above its normal pitch. "There were marks on the bones in both bodies as well as microscopic metal slivers. I was able to do a better reconstruction of the weapons. They were both forged from A2 steel of identical composition, probably from the same source. The knife that killed Johanna Beckett appears to have been a military-style blade with some serrations, the kind that might be carried by special forces. The configuration of the weapon used on Diane Cavanaugh doesn't match anything in my databases. It may be uniquely designed to inflict maximum damage and pain with a minimum of external bleeding."

"Doctor Murray, you should contact Lanie Parish and Sidney Perlmutter," Kate suggests. "That sounds like a match to a weapon used on two victims they autopsied, Dominic Farrell and Luther Frontiere. We also have other evidence that points to a connection between the cases, that could bring us closer to a killer or killers."

"I'm acquainted with Dr. Parish and know Dr. Perlmutter very well. I'll consult with both of them," Murray promises. "Take care, you two, the wielder or wielders of those weapons are ruthless."

"We will, Clark," Castle pledges. "Kate, do you think there might be two killers?" Castle asks, after hanging up. "The hits are in the same book."

"It may be one who uses both weapons, or two working together," Kate muses. "I'll ask CSU to have their handwriting expert look at the book. If there are two killers, she should be able to pick up on it."

"We're getting close to the estate," Castle notes. "The raiders of the parked cars should be cuffed and waiting for us."

Squirming in the box, the sweat stain around the inside of Lionel Pilcher's collar is spreading as Castle watches him wilt under Kate's glare. "The robberies weren't my idea," he pleads. "I applied for a job as a driver and got pulled in. I didn't want to do anything wrong, I swear."

"So, you're an innocent dupe?" Kate presses.

"Yes, that's right," Lionel hastily agrees.

"And who exactly was it that duped you?" Castle inquires.

"Milton Fruman. It was all Milton Fruman. He put everything together."

"The Milton Fruman who runs Speedy Lifts in the Bronx?" Kate queries.

"That's him," Lionel confirms. "You check him out. You'll see. He's behind all of it."

Kate pushes a legal pad and a pen across the table. "Fine. You write down everything you know about Milton Fruman and Speedy Lifts, and we'll get on that."

Lionel grabs for the pen. "Yes, I'll do that. I'll do that right now."

Castle stretches and yawns as Pilcher is led off to holding. "Quite a night." He consults his watch. "One a.m. Are you going to pick up Fruman, Kate?"

"The address on his incorporation papers is a mail drop, and Pilcher wasn't sure where his boss lives. The only location we have that works is Speedy Lifts. I'll send a unit to get him, but I doubt he'll be there. By now, he has to know something went wrong. If he's gone, we'll have to scrub traffic cam footage for his limo to figure out where he went. Go home, Castle. Be there for Alexis in the morning. I'll give you a call if anything happens before then."

"Will you be able to get any rest?" Castle asks.

"I'll catch a nap on the couch in Montgomery's office until I find out whether we've picked up Fruman or not. If he's in the wind, I'll go home for a while."

Castle grabs a quick kiss. "Good. If nothing pops sooner, I'll see you in about eight hours."

"Sleep tight, Castle."

Repeatedly pacing the short hall of his apartment, Milton Fruman tries to figure out what to do. He should have held Sonnenfeld back and told him to have Niles leave the Aston Martin alone. He has no idea what happened to his crew, but it can't be good. If one of them spills his guts… Well, he has a little time to think. None of his Speedy Lifts people know where he lives, and he's not about to go back to the office. He ditched his limo two subway stops away and took the train home. Still, the N.Y.P.D. can track him down eventually. The Florida cops almost got him in his previous identity. Fortunately, he had most of his funds stowed offshore. He still does. He can abandon his New York operation, sweet as it is, and start again. He just needs a plan and a destination. Rubbing his gritty eyes doesn't help. A few hours of sleep, and he'll see and think more clearly. It will take the cops much longer than that to track him down. He'll slip the noose. He always does.