Shared Obsession Chapter 130
Alexis stops in mid-cheer as her father comes through the door of the loft. "Where's Kate?"
"Finishing up the report on the Cano Vega case. Esposito is helping her with the details requiring a decent knowledge of Spanish, so I thought we could spend some family time." His eyes sweep over her very short-skirted uniform. "Cheerleading?"
"Maybe. Buttons gave me some of her cheers and lent me her uniform so I could get the feel of it for tryouts."
"Who are you and what have you done with my daughter?" Castle demands.
"What's wrong with cheerleading?" Alexis asks.
He shakes off the memories of his own lascivious teenage thoughts about the nubile priestesses worshiping their athletic icons. "Uh, nothing, I uh mean with cheerleading itself. But I didn't know you were interested."
"Me either," Alexis admits. "But I watched Buttons practice and it looked like fun. And my college counselor, Ms. Schaefer said I need to consider diversifying my activities. I figure I'm a natural because I root for you all the time." She checks her watch. "Oh, I've got an online study group. Gotta go." She pecks Castle on the cheek and takes the stairs two at a time.
Martha descends as soon as Alexis reaches the mezzanine. "Cheerleading?" Castle queries.
"So?" Martha ripostes. "Remember the time you wanted to play hockey because all the cool guys were doing it?"
"But I didn't join the team," Castle recalls.
"Because you knocked out two teeth during the first practice. Darling," Martha says as Castle's hand automatically goes to his mouth, "let Alexis figure this out on her own, hmm?"
"This coming from the woman who told me not to try to reserve a spot on the first commercial spaceship."
"Oh well," the diva considers, "we'll have to rethink that."
Kate makes it to the loft just in time for dinner. "Finish the report?" Castle asks.
"Mm-hmm. I gave it to Montgomery right before he took off for the day."
"So we actually have a free evening. Want a glass of wine?"
"Please." An alert sounds on her phone.
Castle winces. "Couldn't the murderer wait until morning, or at least after dinner?"
"It's not a body, at least not yet. It's a nationwide BOLO. Senator Brinkman's gone missing."
"Perhaps he wandered off," Castle suggests. "The last video I saw of him he was capable of walking – more or less."
"Maybe, but he would be awfully well attended. Still, he was last seen in DC, so it's not our problem." She takes a deep breath. "Do I smell marinara sauce?"
"That you do. And I'm guessing that as the scent drifts far enough upwards, the ravenous horde of redheads will make an appearance. Hmm, does two constitute a horde?"
"If one of them is a hungry teenager, it probably does," Kate offers.
"In which case, I shall fill up our plates while the opportunity remains," Castle decides. "And given the speed at which this meal will most likely proceed, what would you prefer for the rest of the evening's entertainment?"
Kate grasps a handful of his firm behind. "Let's just see what comes up."
Kate's barely out of her morning shower when her cell sounds off. She grabs it, noting Ryan's ID. "What have we got?"
"A body," the detective responds, "and it's one of the weird ones, Beckett."
Kate holds up her badge as she and Castle pass the uniformed cop at the chain link fence surrounding a playground. Ryan points to the body of a woman that Lanie is working on. "Vic's a female. Late 20s no ID. She was found hanging from the monkey bars by a jogger just after dawn."
Castle sticks his hands in his pockets as the morning breeze kicks up. "Jogging at this time of the year? That requires true dedication." He stares at the light brown coating on the body. "Is that honey?"
"From the smell of it, I'd say caramel sauce," Lanie guesses. "But I'll be testing, not tasting."
"Caramel sauce?" Kate echoes.
"Maybe our killer has a sweet tooth," Castle suggests.
Kate studies the victim. "Given her state of undress, I'd say it's more likely he has a sexual fetish." She points to the wrists. "Bondage cuffs. Custom made. Looks like our killer liked public play."
As his jaw drops, Castle's brows rise at Kate's obvious familiarity with the kinky. "How can you tell the difference between custom and regular?"
"The leather is too high quality to be mass-produced and it's handstitched."
Castle beckons her to a corner of the playground away from other cops. "Beckett, is there something you'd like to tell me about your history?"
"What do you mean, Castle?"
"I mean, how do you personally know the difference between custom and mass-produced sexual paraphernalia?"
Kate sighs. "If I tell you, I don't want it ending up in one of your books."
"Which sounds as if it would be great ending up in one of my books. But I won't use anything without your permission. Promise. So, what were Beckett's adventures in wankerland?"
"When Montgomery first brought me to the 12th we had our own version of Jack the Ripper."
"A guy slashing prostitutes?"
"Not exactly. This guy specialized in dominatrices and a particular type."
"Let me guess, tall, slender, long legs, dark hair. And you played decoy."
"Uh-huh. A few of the ladies showed me the ropes."
"And whips and chains?"
"Among other things. They were very helpful, actually. They wanted to get Jack off the streets as much as the NYPD did."
"Probably more. So did you get him?"
"It took me a while, long enough to learn a lot about wankerland, as you call it. But eventually, he took the bait and came after me."
"Did he hurt you?"
"Not seriously."
That scar on your collarbone you said was from a tussle with a bad guy. Did he give that to you?"
"Uh-huh. But I had him down before my backup could even move in."
"What happened to him?"
"The prison version of dominatrices wanted him as new red meat. They were a lot rougher than the ladies who mentored me. Eventually, he took his life."
"No great loss to the world."
"There are a lot of working women who would agree with you. But can we get back to the case now, Babe? It's freezing out here."
"Sure. At least the caramel sauce won't run."
Kate leads Castle back to the body. "Only a handful of bondage shops in the city do custom work. So let's take photos of the cuffs, send them out, and see if anyone can ID where they came from," she instructs the other detectives.
Ryan regards the S&M site displayed on his computer screen. "You know this is going to pop up on IA monitoring. They'll probably call me in for questioning."
"Why do you think we're using your computer, not mine?" Esposito responds, peering over Ryan's shoulder. "Anyway, everyone knows how much you're into Jenny. They'll believe you if you say this was for a case."
"But they'd have no reason to believe you," Ryan teases his partner. "And this is a little creepy with you breathing down my neck."
Esposito takes a step back and tilts his head. "What does that thing do?"
"Looks like a potato peeler," Ryan offers.
"Oh yeah, that is nasty," Esposito opines.
"And illegal in 12 states," Castle adds from behind them.
Kate strides over on her cell phone. "Yeah, you're right. That is weird. OK. Thank you."
"What's weirder than what we've already got?" Castle asks.
"Lanie ran a SART kit. There are no signs of sexual assault or activity. This has all the makings of a sex crime, but there's no sex involved."
Without the eyeglasses that were taken away from him at some point that Brinkman can't remember, his vision is blurry. But he can still make out what the room that imprisons him holds. There's not much to see. The walls are the flat Navajo white that's available in any home improvement store. There's a bed, more of a cot actually, all wood and plastic, with nothing to pull loose to use as a weapon. There's a sink and a toilet and the kind of chair phlebotomists use to draw blood, but this one has straps. Except for the faint hum of the ventilation system, the aging senator can hear nothing. His captors had said nothing, just shoving him in the direction they wanted him to go. They wore balaclavas and gloves. If asked, he couldn't even give a race as a description. They refused to tell him why he's here. That's what scares him the most.