Shattered Lies

Chapter 27

As the text on her computer screen blurs, Kate swipes the back of her hand over her eyes. "Castle, Bowdry was a councilman for over 40 years. There must have been a lot of political opponents who didn't like him. But I can't see anything he's been involved in recently that would make someone want to shoot him."

Castle lays his phone on her desk. "It may not be recent, Kate. We were talking to Pulgatti about events that took place almost two decades ago. The past can come back to haunt you. I put out the word to some of my contacts that I need information on Bowdry, and I just got an email. Turns out that Bowdry has been writing a memoir. Krepkin, that's a boutique publisher based in Queens, is putting it out. It's still in the galley stage, but I think I can get my hands on a copy. Are you OK with having to hit pause on checking out what we got from Bulgatti to investigate Bowdry's murder?"

Kate rakes her hair back. "I have no choice, Castle. I have to be, but I'm hoping that something in Bowdry's book will help us solve the case as quickly as possible. How fast can you get your hands on it?"

"I'll go pay a visit to Krepkin now. I used to, um – never mind – going to the elevator."

Castle remembers Missy Jensen fondly, at least up to the moment she dumped her root beer on his head. It turned out it was a misunderstanding. She thought he was cheating on her with Sandy Petersen, but they had just been up late together trying to compensate for their shared procrastination on a junior midterm project. He never dated Missy again, but they remained friends into adulthood, still meeting for coffee occasionally to share publishing world gossip.

Missy is the gatekeeper at Krepkin. If anyone can get him a look at Bowdry's remembrances, she can. Kate could probably get a warrant, but it would take time to convince a judge, even Markway, and asking is a lot friendlier. Rick's also picked up a root beer float and a dozen of Missy's favorite molasses lace cookies to encourage her to accommodate the investigation.

Missy's cup gurgles loudly as she sucks deeply on her straw. "Ricky, I needed this. Harper Collins just snagged an author we were after, and the boss is on the warpath. I don't suppose I could convince you to leave Black Pawn to make him happy again?"

Castle attempts to look as regretful as possible. "I'm under contract for two more Derrick Storms and two more Nikki Heats, and they have an option for more. But if there's another project you'd like me to work on, perhaps my own memoir of crime solving, I might be amenable."

Missy stares at the face that has yet to lose its boyish charm. "I think you're a little young to be writing your memoirs. You better be, because we're the same age. But that's not why you're here, is it?"

"No," Castle admits. "You heard about Bowdry's murder?"

"I don't live in a cave, Ricky."

"Rumor has it that you are in possession of his life story. My muse, well the whole gaggle of detectives at the 12th precinct really, is on the case. If you could give me a copy - not for public release, it would help a lot in tracking down his killer."

"Hey, I liked Bowdry. He was a sweet old guy; he helped a cousin of mine straighten out a zoning problem. But Ricky, if I release the galleys to you, I'm going to need you to sign our standard confidentiality agreement. If any of the book leaks, you're going to be on the hook for some hefty damages. The memoir of a dead councilman - a murdered one - is worth a lot more than remembrances of a live politician."

In Castle's mind, there's no contest. Helping Kate to get back to solving her mother's murder and kick down the remaining barrier between them is worth any amount of money. And as close to the vest as Kate keeps things, nothing is going to leak anyway. Castle pulls out his lucky pen. "Hand me the paperwork."

Stuck in his reading corner in the lounge off the bullpen, Castle isn't sure whether to be grateful or not that the days of paper galleys are gone. Electronic versions, like the one he's perusing right now, are more convenient but don't have the feel or even the smell of the long sheets of paper on which editors used to make their corrections. Bowdry's recounting also might have seemed more riveting on the printed page. Maybe not.

Bowdry's story is a lot like the way Castle sees baseball - a few fateful moments separated by long stretches of boredom. But amid descriptions of political maneuverings, the late pol shifts to a subject Castle hadn't expected, the rape of Bowdry's niece and a suspected coverup by a corrupt district attorney.

Castle can't find Kate fast enough. She's not at her desk. He's willing to barge into the ladies room to find her; he's done it before. But he checks the breakroom first. Kate is stirring sugar into her coffee. "Since when does the woman who demands two pumps of unsweetened vanilla add the extract of the cane?"

"I need the energy, Castle. Half the borough of Queens could be suspects, but I can't find a strong motive for any of them."

"Then allow me to give you a boost that doesn't involve ingesting unwanted carbs. Bowdry's case may be converging with your mother's murder. Bowdry has a long and very unfriendly history with a certain senator."

"Bracken?"

Castle presses his forefinger to the tip of his nose. "Bingo!"

Kate stands at the edge of the sand with Castle comfortingly beside her. There is a large crowd between her and Bracken, and the sun is at her back. It would be difficult for the senator to see her, even if he were looking - which he's not. He's saluting the accomplishments of the late Cecil Bowdry and sending his thoughts and prayers to the Bowdry family.

The hypocrisy is sickening, but she's not about to give into the roiling in her stomach at watching the man who may be behind her mother's murder - and Bowdry's - come on like some white knight.

The chances that Bracken could reserve a parking space in Bowdry's domain, let alone give a speech if Bowdry was alive, are practically nonexistent. Kate's read enough of Bowdry's conflicts with the former D.A. to be sure of that. Could Bracken have had him killed just to get the venue?

Kate shivers. Could anyone be that cold, that ruthless? "That one may smile, and smile, and be a villain." Shakespeare knew. Horrifying as it is, there have always been sociopaths like Bracken; like Ted Bundy; all charm on the outside and total blackness within. When she gets through, there will be one less out in the world. She silently swears that to her mother and herself.

Castle can see the whitening of Kate's face and the digging of her nails into her palms. At that moment, he can't do much more than put his arm around her, but he hopes his message is clear. She's not facing Bracken alone.