The day is full. Ryan runs the surveillance tapes from around the payphone, but there's no actual view of the phone, and not enough coverage around it to reliably spot someone using it. She has Espo working up Kruger's financials, and gets to work interviewing her colleagues and friends.
Compton is smooth and slick, a little too packaged. She goes to see him at his office in his law firm. He has patrician hair, an aquiline nose and a stentorian bearing. He'll go far in politics, especially if those steel-grey eyes reflect his personality. No he doesn't know any reason anyone would kill Kruger. Yes she has enemies, she works in politics after all. No he didn't know anything specifically she might want to go to the police with.
Her sister, Castle's old ex, now lives on the West Coast. No point interviewing her yet. The wife is on a flight across the Atlantic right now. Parents have passed away. Ryan's now working through phone records, seeing if there are any other unusual calls or numbers there, anything they can use to follow up on the case.
It's slow, methodical police work, of the old-school variety. Castle would've been bored, would've spun half-assed theories about political conspiracies and CIA cover-ups and what not. Instead she just follows the evidence, keeps interviewing friends and co-workers, building up a picture of the victim as a whole person.
No word from Castle.
The strong political operator. The hardass negotiator. The loving wife.
A work rivalry pops up. She follows up on it.
Tony Froome is a handsome man, his carefully-groomed beard framing his striking features and light hazel eyes. He's also slippery as a snake. She works the box with him, letting the silence fill the room, letting it build, letting that slightly edgy feeling come over him.
"What was your relationship like with Victoria Kruger?"
"We were colleagues on Jeremy Compton's bid for the New York Senate seat. I was his media and PR director, and Victoria was running the political strategy."
"Did you get along?"
He barks a short, sharp laugh.
"No we didn't."
"Affair gone wrong?"
"C'mon Detective, I know you know that she doesn't…bat for the right team. No, our disagreement was more of a personality clash and a disagreement over professional reasons."
Not exactly motive for murder, but she follows up on it.
"Care to elaborate, Mr. Froome?"
"We'd never worked together, but Victoria…had a reputation. For not playing fair. Not colouring inside the lines. Now I know that politics isn't a game for cleanshirts and honest men, but there were…ugly rumours."
"Like what?"
"That she'd planted false stories about her opposing candidates in the past. Gone so far as to doctor photos and documents before releasing them to the media." He shrugs, that fashionable thousand-dollar suit shifting with his shoulders. "There's playing dirty and then there's rolling around in the mud."
"Do you have an alibi for last night between the hours of 10pm and midnight?"
"Sure, I was out for a late dinner with my girlfriend. At The Ballantyne. You can check with their waitstaff and so forth."
"We will, Mr. Froome, we will."
No word from Castle.
Unfortunately, the alibi checks out. She has Ryan and Espo set to chasing down old leads, old political campaigns that Victoria Kruger might've worked on, seeing if they can dig up old political enemies that Froome had hinted she had, while she goes back to the hotel, speaks to the staff there, trying to find out if anyone had overheard anything from the phone call, had some crucial piece of evidence that would be the break in the case.
She doesn't get lucky.
Her phone beeps, and she practically leaps for it back at her desk.
Mother will be out tonight. Come over to the loft when you clock off?
She'd imagined a quiet dinner at Remy's, or that he'd choose somewhere smart and sophisticated and expensive. Not the loft. Not where they had more than a few bitter memories.
Yes. She texts back, willing to let him have the homeground advantage, if that's what he wants. What he needs.
"Yo, Espo, any word on the financials?"
"They seem pretty normal."
"Damn." She mutters under her breath.
Maybe it's his recent reappearance in her life, maybe it's the frustrating nature of the case, where nothing really makes sense, where there doesn't seem to be a motive, or a suspect at all. But all she wants to do is hear him spin some ridiculous theory. Some political conspiracy, a KGB hit squad, time travelling killers…anything at all.
She makes herself a cup of tea instead.
They make little headway for the rest of the day, ruling out people more than finding any useful leads. Even that is effective, in its way. Tomorrow she will have to interview the spouse, maybe hopefully gain an insight there, and also consult with Lanie over the autopsy. Something will have to give way.
She sends Ryan home first, on his way to wife and child, once there's not much to be done, just paperwork and updating the murderboard. Espo bows out soon after, and she keeps an eagle eye on the time herself, not wanting to be late for dinner and yet dreading it the closer it approaches, something like anxiety clawing at her insides.
And yet, when she finds herself standing in front of the door, 15 minutes before the appointed time, most of what she feels is simply…anticipation.
I'm always interested in your reactions to bits and pieces of the action, especially when I hadn't meant to convey certain impressions. Makes me think about my intentions as the writer. Please keep letting me know your thoughts.