Shattered Lies
Chapter 52
Don Epstein's address is in an unincorporated area in Northeast Ohio nowhere near an interstate highway. The closest major thoroughfares are to the North through Cleveland or to the South through Akron. There is, however, a small landing strip. The plane that brings Castle and Beckett is more compact and much less luxurious than the one Rick had chartered to Mississippi, but they're only in the air for an hour.
The car waiting for them in the small parking lot isn't particularly opulent either, but it has a working GPS. "Babe, maybe it would be better if I drive," Kate suggests. "You're all in your head right now."
"You're right," Castle admits. "During the flight, I couldn't think of anything except what I want to say to Epstein, and I still haven't figured it out. I wish we could have brought Custos with us. I can't imagine that Epstein could do anything but listen - and maybe tremble a little - with those canine eyes on him. But our furry buddy never would have been safe on the plane. He's better off with Miniver watching over him until we return."
"Castle, you can handle this. And I'll be right there."
Kate tools past cornfields, but Epstein's address is on a main road. Castle winces as they pass an elementary school just before arriving. "Oh, God! Could he be in a worse place?"
"Babe, you said he hasn't lived here long. Maybe he hasn't had a chance to go after any of the kids yet."
"Damn! I hope not."
Epstein's house is small. What lawn there is, needs mowing, and a portable ramp leads up to the front door. A car with a disabled tag hanging from the rear view mirror is in the short driveway. Castle looks at Kate, who squeezes his hand before he raps on the door. When no one answers, he raps again straining to hear what sounds like the squeak of wheels.
The head of the man who opens the door, leaning on a walker, is completely bald. His gaunt features make him almost unrecognizable from his photograph, but the small scar on his cheek is the same, as is the slight bend of his nose to the right. "Who are you people? What do you want?"
Kate jumps in as Castle's words catch in his throat. "Mr. Epstein, I'm Kate Beckett, and this is Richard Castle, and we'd like to talk to you. May we come in?"
Epstein squints at Rick. "Richard Castle? I thought you looked familiar. I saw you on Good Morning America talking about a book. Yeah, all right. Come in. I don't get much company." Epstein waves the couple to a couch and cautiously lowers himself into a straight chair opposite them.
"Is Good Morning America all you recognize me from?" Rick asks, his fingers curling tightly into the fabric of his trousers.
Epstein stares at Castle for a moment. "Why? Have we met? I think I'd remember a celebrity."
Castle digs his teeth into the inside of his bottom lip. "I wasn't a celebrity the first time we met, just a soaked, scared, ten-year-old boy who thought he could spend a day playing in Central Park."
Epstein gasps, reaching for a mask attached to a nearby oxygen tank, and sucks in air. "What do you want from me?'
Castle's eyes flash. "What I want is for you to understand the scars you left on the children you molested and that God should send you to Hell for it."
Epstein shakes his head. "Mr. Castle, he already has. I think I remember that you fought back. You were not the only one who did. I picked up an infection from the slash of a cub scout knife. Then there were more infections and finally the cancer that is killing me. I can't eat. I can barely walk or breathe. You could try to bring me to justice, but the final judge has already taken care of it, and I would never live to hear a verdict. So do whatever you must, it doesn't matter now."
Kate reaches for Castle's hand. "Come on, Babe. Let's go."
"Am I supposed to feel sorry for him?" Castle wonders out loud as he trudges back to the car. "I'm not that noble."
"Neither am I," Kate admits. "The only thing I felt when Bracken was shot was regret that I didn't get the chance to do it myself. But that makes our work for Out of the Cold mean even more to me. I'm hoping we can bring others justice that is more than poetic."
"We will," Castle assures her. "I'm surprised we don't have any DNA results from Jada's clothing yet."
"From what Terry, Lanie's Dr. Perfect told me, he has to separate Jada's DNA from her attacker's and run extra amplification to get a reliable result. Having the clothes sit around that long didn't help, but at least the M.E. put them in paper, not plastic. That's supposed to be better for protecting the DNA from degradation by bacteria. Terry may have something in a couple of days, assuming there is a match in a criminal database."
"If there isn't one, how about the other databases, research or genealogy?" Castle asks. "From the reading I've done, those are growing. We have enough clout on our board to push for access. And can't Terry get a phenotype - hair color, height, a profile of some sort?"
"I don't know, Babe, but we'll try anything we can. You want to find something to eat before we fly back to New York?"
Castle presses a hand to his protesting gut. "We can get a meal if you need it, but right now I'd rather go home."
"Then that's what we'll do," Kate agrees.
Two days later, Kate's cell buzzes at four o'clock in the afternoon while Castle is making their third round of coffees. Terry reports that he managed to get a partial match to the DNA from Jada's clothes, a child of the perpetrator, who had been convicted of embezzlement.
Kate's shoving her phone back in the pocket of her blazer as Castle approaches bearing two N.Y.P.D. mugs. "Was that Terry?"
"Uh huh. We need a trip to the women's section of Rikers."
Castle puts the cups down on the desk, the liquid sloshing up to the rims. "The killer raped Jada. How could it be a woman?"
"It couldn't. But apparently, criminal behavior runs in the family."
Janice Bielman stares at Kate. "Why do you want to know about my father, Detective? What did the sonofabitch do now?"
"I take it the two of you are not on the best of terms?" Castle assumes.
"Hardly," Janice responds. "He's a twenty-four-carat bastard. He beat my mother, and hit me."
"And your mother never reported it?" Kate queries.
"She was scared to death to say anything to anyone. And she was afraid that if she left, she wouldn't be able to make it on her own. My father controlled the money - everything really, even what was on my mother's grocery shopping list. I couldn't wait to get out of the house - get away. But even when I did, he kept coming around, saying I owed him loyalty for putting a roof over my head and food in my mouth when I was growing up. Can you believe it? That's what finally landed me in here. I was trying to get enough money together to move out of the country, where he couldn't find me."
"Do you know where he is now?" Kate asks.
"Maybe. He sent me a letter telling me how disappointed he is in me. There was a back address on it in Brooklyn. He might still be there."