Shared Obsession Chapter 107
"Sounds like someone's in there," Castle says as he and Kate approach the door of Jeremy's apartment.
Kate draws her gun as they enter. "Hands! Show!"
With a scream, Emma Carnes drops the box she's carrying. Her arms shoot upward. "Detective Beckett, it's me!"
Kate continues to aim her gun at Emma. "What are you doing here?"
"Getting Lucy's, Jeremy's dog's, things. "Animal Control would have put her down if no one took her. Even if Jeremy doesn't remember her, he would hate that. So I have custody now."
"How did you get in?" Kate questions.
"When Jeremy first moved in, he sent me a key for emergencies. He didn't have anyone else. I just put it in a drawer and never used it until today." She blows out air through pursed lips. "Wow! That really gets the heart rate going."
Kate lowers her gun. "I'm sorry to surprise you. We didn't know you'd be here." Emma fingers moisture from beneath her eyes. "Are you OK?"
"Yeah. I just thought for a bizarre moment this would be a second chance for Jer and me. Stupid, right?"
"No, it's not stupid," Castle responds. "And to find out that he's a murderer…."
"When I saw him again, all those years of petty arguments that tore us apart didn't seem to matter. It was as if we'd just met. You know, I felt that thing. And then we came here and I saw that he didn't sell it. I thought maybe he still had feelings for me too."
"Do you mean the painting the two of you bought on your honeymoon?" Kate asks.
"We didn't buy it because we wanted to," Emma confides. "We had to. We were in Taglia's studio in Siena and Jeremy picked it up off the easel. Back then he was always goofing around. Taglia went crazy. The paint was still drying. We laughed for a week about our little paint smudge. And then when I saw he didn't sell it, I thought maybe…. But I was kidding myself."
"Why do you say that?" Castle asks.
"No thumbprint." Emma points at the lower right corner of the painting. "It should be right there. He sold ours. This one's just a copy."
"Ms. Carnes, are you sure?" Kate questions.
"Of course I'm sure."
"It's a fake, like the fakes Fink was selling to Harun," Castle realizes.
"That's got to be Jeremy's connection to Fink," Kate says.
"And if Jeremy and Fink were arguing like Harun claimed," Castle picks up, "maybe it was over the original."
"And if that's the fake, where is the original?" Kate queries.
Emma gazes from Kate to Castle. "You two finish each other's thoughts. Jeremy and I used to do that. It would be wonderful to have someone who could read me that way again."
Standing on the sidewalk, Harun talks into his cell phone while a limo driver loads the trunk. "Deux semaines. Absolutely and…." He regards the driver. "Careful with that one. Oui, oui," he continues on his cell. "A bientot. Alors."
Beckett's bootheels clack against the sidewalk. "Leaving us so soon, Mr. Harun?"
"Oh, what now?" Harun demands. "I have a plane to catch."
"Make any interesting art acquisitions on this trip?" Castle inquires.
"As a matter of fact yes," Harun answers impatiently.
"Mind if we take a look?" Castle asks.
"I'm sorry. I just don't have the time," Harun insists.
"Make time," Kate demands.
"Detective, just what part of diplomatic immunity don't you understand?" Harun queries.
Kate gazes at the limo's trunk. "See, every time you say something like that, it makes me think you have something to hide."
"Well, it's too bad that you will never find out," Harun retorts.
Kate saunters to the driver. "License and registration, please."
The man's eyes flit to Harun and back to Kate. "What? Why?"
"You're double parked," Kate explains.
"This is New York. Everyone double parks," the driver argues.
"Detective Beckett, is this man resisting arrest?" Castle asks.
"I believe he is," Kate replies, pulling out her handcuffs. "Up against the car, now!"
"You can't do this," Harun sputters, as Kate cuffs the driver.
Kate ignores him, continuing to concentrate on her prisoner. "I'm going to have to search your car."
"You have no right to do this," Harun squeaks.
"I don't see any diplomatic plates," Kate informs him. "And diplomatic immunity doesn't extend to car services."
As Kate opens the trunk, Castle stares inside. "What do we have here? Is that a genuine Taglia?"
"It's only one of Fink's fakes," Harun insists, "practically worthless."
Castle points to the tiny flaw in the corner. "The love smudge says otherwise."
"Mr. Harun, this can go one of two ways," Kate says. "You can either cooperate and tell me what I want to know, or I can call the State Department and inform them that you have a piece of evidence that's at the center of a murder investigation."
"And last I checked," Castle adds, "the tabloids don't give a rat's ass about your diplomatic status. They might even consider it red meat for their hungry readers. They'll print your photograph with a 24-point caption reading 'Diplomatic Douchebag.' And it might even get back to the 'demanding wives' back home that their husbands have been pulling a number on them. That wouldn't be much good for business."
Harun stares at the open trunk and cuffed driver. He sighs his resignation. "Fine. What would you like to know?"
"A fake version of this painting was found in one of our shooting victim's apartments. Can you tell us how it got there?" Kate asks.
"How would I know this?" Harun questions.
"Because the fake painting is where the real painting used to be. And now you have the real painting," Castle replies.
"All I know is that I asked Fink to acquire it for a client of mine. When he called the night he was killed, to say he had it, I assumed he had tracked down the owner and made a deal. But when I went to the gallery that night, he sent me away, just like I told you," Harun maintains.
"That's a great story, Mr. Harun. But if Fink sent you away empty-handed, how do you have the painting now?" Kate presses.
"Because I got a call from a man this morning who said he had it – for a price."
Kate edges into Harun's space. "Who was it?"
"It was Fink's new assistant, Darius."
Darius Langley squirms in his metal chair in the box. "This is crazy. I told you already. I was in class when Mr. Fink was killed."
"Nobody remembers seeing you there," Kate informs him.
"I sat in the back," Darius claims.
"The naughty kids always do," Castle comments.
"You were there at the gallery the night Jeremy Preswick confronted Fink about the Taglia," Kate asserts.
Darius wipes damp palms against his shirt. "Listen, there's obviously been some kind of misunderstanding."
Kate opens her ever-present folder and pulls out a document. "Was this a misunderstanding as well? It's a signed statement from a locksmith saying he made a key from an impression you brought him, a key that unlocks Jeremy Preswick's apartment."
"See, when I used Jeremy's key, I noticed there was something greasy on it," Castle explains. "That must have been the release agent you used on it before you put it back in his pocket to cover the fact you'd be getting in. And you took his wallet so you'd know where he lived."
"After you got into the apartment,' Kate continues, "you put the gun you used to kill Fink in a drawer, switched out the paintings, and left the wallet so Jeremy couldn't tell the police he was robbed. You walked from the gallery to Jeremy's apartment. I'm guessing you didn't want to get picked up by the subway cameras or have a cab driver identify you. But there's an ATM just down the block from the apartment. It takes video every time it's activated. Just your bad luck it caught you."
"No, it was all Fink!" Darius protests. "He wanted the painting. He had me paint a fake. But when he was killed, I was out of a job. I already had the fake. The only thing I could do was try to sell the real one. But I didn't kill Victor."
Kate pulls out another document. "That's a lie. And you know what else is a lie? Your name. Darius Langley is your roommate. Your, George Heller's, prints were all over the gallery. When we ran them, we got your rap sheet, quite a list. One more strike and you go away for a very very long time."
"Which is why you couldn't afford to have Preswick call the cops when he found out the truth. So you shot him, and then when he went down you shot Fink as well," Castle accuses. "You really should have made sure Preswick was dead, George. But you were in too much of a hurry to get out of there and plant the gun to point the cops away from you."
"Preswick shot Fink," Heller declares. "You can't prove that he didn't."
"Actually, we can," Kate says. "We had the ME take another look at Fink's gunshot wounds. They couldn't have been sustained in a close-up scuffle. The angles were all wrong. There's no way Fink could have turned the gun on Preswick. And we traced the gun, too. At one point it belonged to an old cellmate of yours."
"Maybe the warden will let you paint his portrait," Castle suggests. "If I were you, I'd do a very good job."
"Ready to go home?" Rick asks Kate as LT leads Heller away. "We do have a tree to decorate. Even Mother is showing up for the festivities."
"Ready," Kate replies hoping it will be her chance to finally get a tête à tête with Martha.
