Shared Obsession Chapter 62
Before finally leaving the 12th, Lee Wax searches out Castle as he hunches over his laptop in the break room. Her hips swing seductively as she approaches his table. "It's a pretty sweet gig you've scored for yourself, Mr. Castle. Is this your secret to writing bestsellers, follow the pretty cop around and take copious notes?"
Castle's eyes remain on his screen. "I'd like to think talent plays a part. And taking up residence in the public library didn't hurt, either. I had 22 novels published before I met Detective Beckett."
"Still, you have the kind of all-access pass that most writers would kill for."
Sighing, Castle looks up. "Why don't we get to the part where you tell me what you want?"
"Maybe you can give me a call sometime, professional to professional. Or do you have to check with your boss lady first?"
"If you think Beckett is my boss lady, that's one type of detail among many you apparently don't take the time to evaluate. Beckett and I work toward mutual goals. That takes a lot of sweat and not the kind between the sheets. What you did, was ignore your client's wishes, quite possibly leading to her death. What you didn't do was look the slightest bit below the surface of her tale of woe. In my book, that makes you the worst kind of professional, the type who doesn't care what kind of crap she puts out or who gets hurt, as long as she gets paid. So if you're done here, I actually have work to do."
Lee starts toward the door before looking back over her shoulder. "You have no idea what you're missing, Castle."
"Well, then that's my problem. Have a nice day, Ms. Wax." He continues to concentrate on his screen as Lee stalks off.
"Castle," Kate calls from the doorway a half-hour later, "we have some things put together. I can use your eyes."
He flips his laptop closed. "Roger. Right behind you."
Montgomery joins Beckett and Castle at the murderboard, which now contains copies of Lee Wax's most relevant documents. Beckett points to a photograph of a young Cynthia Dern with her arms around another young woman at a protest rally. "That's Susan Mailer with our victim. The guy next to them is Jared Swanstrom."
"The gang's all there," Castle observes.
"According to official reports, Susan Mailer was killed in the blast and Jared Swanstrom served 15 years for assembling the bomb," Kate says.
"And Cynthia, alias, Allison, eluded capture for two decades. So why would she come out of the shadows now?" Castle wonders. "It had to be about more than money. Hell, she had a well-established identity complete with Social Security Number, and she had the time to go to the city. She could have gotten a real job. And where's an ME's report for Susan Mailer?"
"There wasn't one," Kate replies. "No body was found."
"Or no one looked," Castle guesses. "There's nothing there about a search, either. The feds bought the BS about Mailer being vaporized and didn't bother. They just concentrated on Cynthia. Maybe they thought she was the easiest target. Twenty years proved them wrong about that too."
"But who would hold a grudge against Cynthia this long?" Montgomery queries.
"There are people who would never forget," Castle suggests, "Captain Pike and his loved ones." At the mention of Captain Pike, Castle, and Kate exchange sideways glances, but he keeps going. "Lee Wax admitted she made some calls. What if one of them was to the Pike family?"
Montgomery nods. "You may have something, Castle. You two should go check that out."
Kate nudges Castle as Montgomery returns to his office. "Were you thinking of…?"
"Chris Pike, the original captain of the Enterprise who was paralyzed by a terrible explosion?"
"Yes. Are we horrible?"
"Only if we think of the comparison as making Captain Sam Pike's injuries any less tragic or meaningful. And I take it you don't."
"Of course not."
"Neither do I. It's too bad Sam can't go to a planet where he could live as whole, the way Chris did. But at least we can try to bring Sam some closure."
"Are you sure you want to come along on this one? I'll be driving to Westchester. That's a lot of time away from your research."
"I downloaded a bunch of files to my laptop. I can go through them while you drive. Who knows? We might get two epiphanies."
"I'd settle for one."
Castle studies the photos on the Pikes' mantle while Kate sits opposite Eleanor Pike, Sam's wife. Sam Pike is nearby in his wheelchair, a pump hissing as it delivers oxygen to his scarred lungs. His face and any other visible skin bear scars as well, but they aren't as jarring as the fury in his eyes.
"You say Cynthia Dern was living in Irvington?" Eleanor asks.
"That's right," Kate confirms.
Eleanor's hands flutter as if trying to grab onto something. "That's just a couple of miles from here."
"In the months leading up to her death, Cynthia was working with a journalist," Kate explains.
Eleanor nods. "Yes, Lee Wax. She called here several times, but she never told us Cynthia was involved."
"She should have," Sam Pike's voice rasps. "Will you excuse me?" He nods to a health aide who wheels him away.
Eleanor sighs. "It's hard for him. He's still angry. We all are."
Castle points to a picture of a man in his mid-twenties standing beside a motorboat. "Your son?"
"Yes, Adam."
"He's a sailor just like his dad."
"The settlement wasn't enough to cover all of Sam's medical costs. Adam's been working and helping out since he was a teenager," Eleanor explains.
"Would it be all right if we talked to him?" Kate asks.
Eleanor waves toward the rear of the house. "He's out back."
Adam is holding a sander and walking toward a small boat as Kate and Castle approach. "Adam? I'm Detective Kate Beckett. This is Mr. Castle."
"Is this about Cynthia or Allison or whatever she calls herself?" Adam demands.
"Did you have any idea that she lived so close to you?" Kate asks.
"Didn't know. Didn't care."
"You didn't care about the woman who almost killed your father?" Kate questions. "I find that hard to believe."
Adam turns angrily to glare at Kate. "You know my family waited 20 years for the cops to find Cynthia Dern, so my dad could get just a little bit of justice. Well, it's too late for that now. So what do you want from us?"
"Well, I thought you might want to know how Cynthia Dern died," Kate replies. "She was drowned in motor oil."
"Motor oil?" Adam repeats.
"It's almost as if whoever did it had a personal connection to the bombing," Castle adds.
Adam turns on his sander and begins working on the surface of the boat.
"Adam, if I looked in your garage now, would I find motor oil?" Kate inquires.
The young man whirls back to face her. "Detective, I own a car and a boat."
"And where were you last Tuesday evening?" Kate presses.
"I bartend at the Foxtail Grill on Manchester every Tuesday and Thursday night. Are we done?"
"For now," Kate replies. "Yes. Thank you."
"Do you think Adam did it?" Castle asks, climbing in beside Kate in her unit.
"I don't know, Castle. I'll have to confirm his alibi."
"I hope it checks out," Castle confides.
"I thought you wanted to put this case to bed ASAP."
"I do. But not that way. That family's had enough grief. On the upside, I believe I made some progress on our journey up here. There's a Christian retreat, right in the middle of the desert in California, not far from the Arizona border. It's called Manna from Heaven."
"Is Fred Quistel involved with it?"
"It's privately held, so it took some digging, but I found him listed as a member of the board. I'll still need to get into the property records to see who actually owns the land. I should be able to do that on our trip back to Manhattan."
"I need to stop at the Foxtail Grill on our way."
"I figured you'd say that. I've got my fingers crossed that Adam's story holds."
"Yeah, me too."