Shared Obsession Chapter 1

Rick regards the badge shoved in front of his face. "Am I supposed to believe that the NYPD is actually serious about trying to solve a murder, or is it just you, Detective Kate Beckett?"

"I assure you, Mr. Castle, that I am absolutely dedicated to discovering who committed murders and delivering the killers to face justice."

"Well, if that's true, it's refreshing," Rick responds. "I'll willingly accompany you for questioning. I just have to make sure that my mother and daughter get home safely. Mother's soused, and I can't count on her judgment. I want to put both of them in a cab."

"All right," Kate agrees. "But I'm keeping you in my sight until they're on their way."

"That's fair," Castle allows.

Sitting across from Castle in an interview room at the 12th Precinct, Kate pages through Castle's file. You stole a cow and pushed it up 12 flights of stairs to the roof of a school?"

"I'd just turned eighteen, or that wouldn't even be on my record," Castle explains. "I'm sure you can see that outside of the occasional disorderly conduct, with the charges dropped, I don't have anything criminal on my record. I write about murders, Detective, I don't commit them. That choice is both more lucrative and quite legal."

"Let's talk about a murder, then, Mr. Castle." Kate holds up an 8 X 10 photograph of a woman. "What do you make of this?"

Rick studies the image. "Sunflowers on her eyes, body covered in rose petals. Other than a few details, that's the way the victim was laid out in 'Flowers for Your Grave.'"

"It looks right to me. What details, Mr. Castle?"

Castle's eyebrow arches. "The pattern of the rose petals is wrong. In the book, the killer gave his victim complete modesty. He even covered her toes. Whoever did this, didn't afford this woman that respect. Also, it's difficult for me to tell from your photograph, but it looks like it may be the wrong variety of roses. If your killer is playing copycat, he's not very thorough, Detective."

"Or maybe it's someone who intimately knows those details trying to distract from his identity," Kate proposes.

"Someone like me? Detective, if you want to know if I committed the murder, just ask me."

"All right, Mr. Castle." Kate taps the photograph with a short fingernail. "Did you kill this woman?"

"No, I didn't, Detective Beckett. But you are free to check my alibi for whenever the murder took place."

"Fine, where were you between noon and two o'clock this afternoon?"

"That's easy, at Marlowe Academy. It was a PTA lunch. We were discussing a trip to Washington DC for the American history students. I brought the brownies. They were triple chocolate. I suspect the other parents, as well as the faculty involved in the planning, will remember. The school would be closed now. But I have numbers in my phone for at least six other parents and two faculty members you can call to confirm my whereabouts."

Kate nods. "I'll take those numbers, Mr. Castle. You can stay here while I make the calls."

"I haven't had a comfort break since I started signing books this evening, Detective. While you're busy, I could use a trip to the men's room."

"Too much open bar, Mr. Castle?"

"I don't drink alcohol when I'm responsible for my daughter's safety, Detective Beckett. I was drinking sparkling water with a twist. But it was still wet. Restroom?"

"Fine. Officer Tolliver can take you."

After 20 minutes, Kate returns to a less fidgety Richard Castle. "I confirmed your alibi. You're free to go."

Castle rises from his seat but turns back before reaching the door of the room. "I can help you, you know. No one knows more about 'Flowers for Your Grave' than I do. I could spot any other inconsistencies in the crime scene that might lead you to the killer."

Kate's chin juts defiantly. "I can handle it, Mr. Castle. I have a copy of your book."

A smile teases the corners of Rick's mouth. "So you're a fan?"

"Of books, Mr. Castle. I have a lot of them."

"Good for you, Detective. That's the most encouraging thing I've heard about a member of the NYPD in some time."

With a thunderous expression, Captain Roy Montgomery summons Kate into his office. "Beckett, I just got off the phone with Mayor Weldon. He said that Richard Castle offered you his assistance for your investigation of the murder that's a copycat of one of his books, and you turned it down. The mayor's not happy about that."

"What, Weldon and Castle are buddies?"

"They work together on Weldon's library project, so they're acquainted. Apparently, Castle brought up the matter when they were discussing a reading awareness campaign. Aside from Mr. Castle's possible expertise concerning this murder, Weldon feels that the NYPD could get some positive press by working with Castle. God knows that after Judge Weinberg put out his statement slamming the NYPD for wide-ranging falsification of testimony, we can use some. And Castle has made less than complimentary statements himself about the NYPD in the past. It would help for the public to see him on our side."

"Castle did seem pretty hostile toward the department. I assumed it was because I pulled him out of his book party. So what's his problem?"

"I don't know the whole story, but it has something to do with an unsolved murder of someone he cared about. I guess the two of you have that in common. In any case, Weldon wants you to accept any help that Castle can offer. And make sure the reporter from the Ledger, who hangs around downstairs to pick up police blotter stuff, finds out that Castle is involved."

"I really don't need to be tripping over some rich dilettante, Captain."

"It's not your choice, or mine, Beckett. The mayor says to let Castle in on the case, we let him in on the case. There must be something he can do."

"Uh-huh. Yeah, I can think of something."

Rick shakes his head at the loose gloves Kate offers him to go through the banker's boxes of his recent fan mail. "I'm allergic to latex. Many people are, probably including some of your comrades in arms. I'm surprised the department still uses these instead of nitrile."

"I think there's a box of nitrile gloves in the janitor's closet. I've seen the cleaning crew use them sometimes."

"The cleaning crew gets better equipment than detectives do?" Castle questions. "So scrubbing up is more important than giving you the supplies you need to solve crimes?"

Kate shrugs. "I don't know. The budget is the Captain's problem, not mine. Different line item, maybe. But if you need the nitrile gloves, I'll see if I can find you a pair."

"Thank you, Detective Beckett. Next time, I'll remember to bring my own."

"I don't know if there will be a next time. Mr. Castle. But I'll get your gloves now. We need to get to work."

Taking a moment's break from speed-reading through piles of his fan mail, Castle gazes across the table. "Why are you a cop, Detective Beckett?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" Kate returns.

"Your speech patterns are pure Manhattan. It costs money to live here. That means your parents probably had it. And you're beautiful. Women like you become lawyers, not cops. So what happened?"

"If you're that observant, you should be able to figure it out."

"If that's meant to be a challenge, I'll take it. As gorgeous as your eyes are, they're haunted. You suffered a trauma, but not a physical one. You lost someone, someone you loved very much. A murder? But the NYPD dropped the ball. The case was one of many that were never cleared. So, you became a cop to do better. But you didn't solve it either, did you?"

"No," Kate admits.

"But you're still hoping to."

"In my more optimistic moments."

Castle nods. "I wish you luck."