Shared Obsession Chapter 2
Kate holds up a letter. "Look at this, Castle! It's from a fan named Kyle Cabot. It's all about 'Flowers for Your Grave.' He even drew a picture of the body."
"Oh, Kyle, yes. He's definitely one of the faithful and has a great mind for detail. See, his picture has the pattern of petals correct. He can't be your murderer."
"Maybe he was interrupted before putting out all his petals." Kate considers. "He's obsessed both with you and your work, Castle. I have to check him out."
"You're wasting your time," Castle warns.
Kate shrugs. "It's my time to waste."
"Actually, it's the people of New York's time," Castle argues. "Maybe if the NYPD remembered that, your clearance rate would be higher."
Kate's eyes blaze. "I have one of the highest clearance rates in the city."
"Then you should have better judgment, Detective. But go run your check. I'll keep going through these, for whatever good it might do. Has it ever occurred to you that the killer imitated, or badly imitated, the book, to lead the police astray? And you fell for it hook, line and sinker."
"We'll see about that, Mr. Castle."
Kate returns a half-hour later, triumphantly waving a file. "Kyle Cabot."
"Let me guess," Castle retorts. "He got picked up for jaywalking."
Kate grits her teeth. "Actually loitering. He was pacing up and down outside the library, mumbling to himself. Someone was afraid he might be dangerous and called 911. After a cop picked him up, a shrink figured out that the library opened late because of a plumbing problem, and no one told Kyle what was wrong. Once she told him, he understood. But she decided he had a problem of some sort and referred him to Adult Protective Services to get him some support. His caseworker was Allison Tisdale, the murder victim. That's a direct connection, Castle. I'm going to pick him up."
"I'm going with you," Castle declares.
Kate plants herself firmly in the doorway. "No way!"
A smile quirks one corner of Castle's mouth. "You'd better ask your captain."
The pounding of a squad of NYPD feet vibrates through the walls of the old building where Kyle Cabot rents a small apartment. Kate leads the charge, with Castle more quietly bringing up the rear. When she receives no response to her insistent rap on the door, she kicks it in.
The tight space looks more like a shrine than living quarters, with meticulously hung Castle-related memorabilia. Bookcases full of second-hand volumes line what wall space remains. An apartment-sized stove, refrigerator, and cheap microwave fill a galley kitchen with a drop-down narrow table. A metal cabinet holds a few dishes and flatware as well as cereal and cans of SpaghettiOs. Muffled whimpers issue from behind aging slatted closet doors. With her weapon aimed toward the opening, Kate pulls on a door.
Tightly curled into a fetal position, with his hands over his ears, Kyle Cabot lays on the closet floor. "Come out of there!" Kate commands. "Drag him out," she orders two uniformed officers when Kyle curls even more tightly into himself.
Castle pushes forward. "Wait! Give me a minute with him. Kyle, it's Richard Castle," he says softly, crouching down in front of the suspect. "You know me. I'm the man on your wall. The police need to ask you some questions. If you'll come out now, they won't hurt you."
"Richard Castle?" Kyle echoes.
"That's right."
"You'll stay with me?"
"As long as you want. But you need to come out of there. And the police will want to put handcuffs on you, but they won't hurt you. I won't let them hurt you."
"Richard Castle?" Kyle repeats.
"Yes, And I'm right here."
Castle extends his hand to the young man and helps him up as Kate moves in.
A plastic water bottle crackles, crushed under Kate's frustrated fingers. The last person she wants in the box with her and Kyle Cabot is Richard Castle. But when she tried to get him out, her suspect just drew up his knees and covered his ears again. So Castle's back. And to make things worse, he's the only one Cabot will talk to. She's been trying to write down questions for Castle, but he seems to be following his own trail. She can only hope it eventually leads somewhere.
Castle hands Kyle a freshly purchased can of soda. "Diet Coke, gold can. So, Kyle, can you tell me about Ms. Tisdale?"
"She has brown hair but blue eyes, like you. She's nice like you."
Rick passes a quick note to Kate. "He doesn't know she's dead."
"Or pretending he doesn't," Kate writes back.
"When was the last time you saw Ms. Tisdale, Kyle?" Castle asks.
"Three-thirteen pm, Tuesday. She came to the diner where I work. She ordered the apple pie. But she left some on her plate."
"Did she talk to you?" Castle continues.
"She asked me if everything was OK at work."
"And what did you tell her?"
"That the dishwasher made too much noise, and it scared me. But Ari said something was stuck in the rotor and fixed it. So everything was OK then."
"Did you and Ms. Tisdale talk about anything else?"
"She said she couldn't eat all her pie because she was having dinner with her father later. And she said she'd see me next week."
"Kyle, did Ms. Tisdale look scared of anything?" Castle inquires.
"She didn't make any of the faces my teacher in school told me mean scared."
"Did she wiggle in her seat or bang her fork or bite her pen?"
"She'd never bang her fork. She knows the sound is scary. And she didn't wiggle. But she bit her pen."
"Does she usually bite her pen?"
"How many times is usually?" Kyle inquires.
"Every time or almost every time you see her."
"I've only seen her do it two times."
"When was the other time?"
"She was looking out the window of the diner at her car. There was a man near it."
"Do you know who the man was?"
"No."
"Did she call him anything?"
"She just looked out the window at him."
"Can you remember what the man looked like, Kyle?"
"He had brown hair like Allison. I couldn't see the color of his eyes, but they were the same shape as Allison's."
"Kyle, could you draw a picture of him?" Castle asks.
"Do you have a #3 pencil? I like #3 because I can make thinner lines than with a #2."
"I'll find one," Castle promises.
Castle joins Kate at the one-way mirror, looking in on the box. "He's not your killer, Detective. But he might have seen him. Do you know anyone around here that would have a #3 pencil?"
"Maybe the sketch artist. I can ask him, but I think it's a waste of time, Castle. Kyle almost worships your books, and he knows the victim."
"Who he doesn't even know is dead. And he obviously likes her. What would be his motive? There are three in the mystery writer's toolbox, love, money, or to cover up another crime. None of them fit."
"You said he likes her. Maybe he did more than like her. Maybe he fell in love with her, and she rejected him. There's your motive, Castle."
"Come on, Detective. Does he look like a rejected suitor? The last time a woman broke up with me, I stayed in my pajamas for a week and ate three gallons of ice cream. He's upset by noise and being pulled away from his home, but he's hardly grieving for lost love. I know grief, and I'm not seeing it in Kyle. Are you?"
"No," Kate admits, "but murderers hide all sorts of feelings."
"By curling up in the bottom of their closets at the noise coming from a bunch of cops rushing up old stairs? I don't buy it, and I don't think you do either. Find him the #3 pencil, Detective. Let's see whom he draws."
Kate turns away. "Fine!"