Poison Pen
Chapter 41
The burn-off of the fog is almost as much of a shock to the denizens of the Big Apple as was its arrival. For many, it had been a welcome respite from work and the stress of fighting traffic. Now it's back to the old grind.
Eager to find Elliott, Bracken fidgets in the back of a cab. Desperate to get in as many fares as he can, the driver is maintaining a pace that pushes the limits of safety, but Bill is grateful. Springer's office still doesn't have a schedule for him, and Bill wants to catch him before he takes off again.
The taxi pulls up in front of the relatively modest home that Springer maintains as a cover for the more opulent properties he owns. As the place most reachable by Charlaine's workforce, it's Elliott's most likely location. Bill stuffs bills in the slot for the cabbie and bounds out of the vehicle without waiting for change. He's overtipping, but at that moment, he'll live with it.
Bracken rings the bell three times before the door is opened by one of Charlaine's more creative employees. "Bill, I didn't know we were having a threesome."
"We're not, Gigi," Bracken explains. "I need some time with Elliott. Take five, or whatever you girls call it."
Gigi shrugs. "Fine. I'll grab a shower."
Springer pulls a sheet over his body as Bracken bursts into his bedroom. "Elliot, what the hell is going on? You take off without telling your office — or me — where you're going. I can't reach Coonan or Lockwood, and I think Lockwood might have survived a shootout with the cops. Then a transportation catastrophe hits, and you're not even available for comment, just having your fun with Charlaine's honeys. Are you trying to commit political suicide and drag me down with you?"
Elliott shoves a pillow behind his back. "You can't kill what's already dead, Bill. The cops have Lockwood, and word is he's going to talk. He'll try to save his ass by giving them you. And they have Coonan too. He can pull me into it and probably will. We're done, both of us. I'm getting out as soon as I can get in the air. If you're smart, you'll disappear too."
"I'm not going anywhere," Bracken proclaims. "I worked hard building up the network in this city, harder than you. And who the hell is going to believe a hitman accusing a senator famous for serving his city and his country? I'll claim that it's a hoax and a scam cooked up by a corrupt police department and D.A. to cover their own failings. The public will believe me. They always do."
"And what are you going to say about me, Bill?" Springer asks.
"That I don't know about anything except the work we did together in the Senate, but we accomplished great things for our constituents. I won't give you up, Elliott."
Springer can hear the shower running and music playing in an adjoining bathroom. Any sounds from the bedroom will be muffled. Obscured by the tent of the bedding over his body, Springer's hand inches toward a drawer in his bedside table until his fingers curl around the grip of his pistol. Improvising a silencer to further cover a gunshot, Elliott fires at Bracken through the pillow. Bracken is dead before he hits the floor. Grabbing the sheet from the bed, Springer rolls Bracken in it and shoves him underneath.
Scrubbing the moisture from her head with a towel, Gigi emerges from the bathroom. Where's Bill? I thought he might change his mind and have a party."
"He's gone. He reminded me of some business I need to take care of. You can go too. You'll get your bonus."
Gigi presses her lips to Springer's in as convincing a display of passion as she can muster. "Thanks, Elliott. You're always so good to us."
Charlaine's surprised to see a call come in from Gigi. The girl always gives her a report so they can update the kink profiles on the johns, but she wasn't due to finish for hours. Elliott run out of steam?" the madam asks.
"Not that I noticed, but something happened. Bracken came to see Elliott. I grabbed a shower, but I could have sworn I heard a gun go off. When I came out of the bathroom, Bill was gone."
"He probably just left. Maybe you heard a backfire," Charlaine suggests.
"Backfires don't leave little red drops on the floor," Gigi insists. "But look, Charlaine, you could call Bill and make sure he's OK. I mean, we don't want to lose a customer, right?"
"No, we don't," Charlaine agrees. "I'll take care of it."
After trying three times to reach Bill Bracken on his private number, Charlaine is concerned. She's more than concerned, she's worried. She can't have her customers shooting each other. Damn! For all she knows, Springer could go after Gigi or another one of her girls. She's managed to stay in business by being a useful confidential informant about some less than honest clients who became abusive or dangerous. It's time to give McKenzie a call. He can pass her information on and keep her out of it."
"What's wrong?" Castle asks as the usually shallow lines on Kate's face deepen.
"I got a text from McKenzie in Vice. He got a tip from his C.I. His source thinks that Bracken was murdered."
"By whom?" Castle wonders.
"The senior senator from New York, Elliott Springer."
"You buying it?"
"I don't know, Castle. But I have to check it out."
Kate's rap on the door vibrates through Springer's apartment just as he's making the last check that he's packed everything he needs to be comfortable in Montenegro. He has full sized-bottles of everything he likes, but that doesn't matter. You don't go through T.S.A. when you take a private plane. Any other problems can be remedied by smearing a generous amount of grease on outstretched palms.
Disgruntled constituents have tracked Springer to this residence before. He's hoping that if he ignores the knock and the insistent ringing of the doorbell, whoever it is will go away. The feminine voice penetrating the dense wood to announce the presence of the N.Y.P.D. dashes that hope. He'll have to talk to them as briefly as possible.
Springer might have taken the woman standing on his stoop for one of Charlaine's girls if she were wearing more makeup and fewer clothes. She's beautiful enough to fluff any man into a passion, but the badge she's holding up makes it clear that she has other intentions. "Senator Springer, I'm Detective Kate Beckett. I need to ask you a few questions."
"Damn! Of course, he knows about Beckett and her writer shadow, but the picture of her he formed in his mind didn't approach the reality. Still, if she had something solid, she wouldn't have bothered to knock. All he needs to do is talk his way past her this one time, and he'll be out of reach forever. "Detective Beckett, I'm sorry. I'm about to leave for a fact-finding mission overseas. I'll be meeting with several foreign dignitaries, and I have to keep to the schedule."
"This won't take long, Senator," Kate promises. "Can we come in?"
"I'd prefer to talk out here," Springer demurs. "As I said, I don't have much time."
Kate pulls a document from inside her jacket. "Senator, I prefer to ask politely, but I have a warrant to search your dwelling."
"I need to see that," Springer demands.
"Of course, that's your right," Kate agrees, handing over the paperwork.
Springer sways dizzily as he reads, "the presence of blood." Sh*t. Bracken is still under the bed.