Shared Obsession Chapter 22
"I don't care if it was free," Esposito insists stomping around in a dumpster. "You could pay me, and I wouldn't take that rug."
"Are you telling me that you've lived in New York your whole life and never scored a piece of roadkill?" Ryan presses skeptically.
Esposito snorts. "Roadkill? Man, if you'd ever been in range of an IED, you wouldn't use a term like that like it was nothing."
"Sorry, Bro. I just meant furniture people leave by the side of the road because they don't want to pay to get rid of it. It's accepted practice. When you're done with your stuff, instead of shelling out to get it hauled, you leave it by the side of the road for the less fortunate – students, artists, former hedge fund managers. It's trickle-down economics at its finest."
"Nobody trickles on me," Esposito declares.
"You know that red couch I have that you like so much," Ryan persists.
Esposito shoves his gloved palm toward Ryan's face. "Don't say it, Bro."
"Fifty-fourth and Lex."
"That is just gross, gross! I'm never playing Madden at your house again. And if you like trash so much, next time you can play in the dumpster by yourself, and I can do real police work."
"Excuse me, Detective," a tall uniformed officer interrupts, handing Esposito a wallet. "I found this in the other dumpster."
Ryan nods and smiles. "Thanks, LT."
"You just got in there," Esposito protests, checking the contents. "No cash or credit cards, but the driver's license is still here, Jeffrey Horn."
"It's nice leather," Ryan notes, "a smooth surface. Maybe we'll get lucky, and the lab can raise some prints."
Esposito shakes his head. "A killer who takes the trouble to roll Horn in the rug would leave his prints behind? Don't count on it, Bro."
"So?" Castle asks as Kate checks a text on her phone.
"No prints on the wallet the boys found, not even a partial, except for Horn's on his license. Someone took a lot of trouble to wipe the thing clean."
"Body rolled up in a rug, wiped fingerprints, this was no random mugging Beckett," Castle offers.
"You're right," Kate agrees. "But as coverups go, it's a pretty sloppy one."
"Or overthought," Castle offers. "It would have been much more convincing to just shoot Horn, grab his wallet with his watch and jewelry, and take off. No muss, no fuss, no sticking around to get caught. Maybe it's an attempt at some kind of a frame."
"Frame who, Castle?"
"I don't know. But Horn did have one enemy that's public knowledge, the guy who was trying to build that hotel, Calvin Creason. He owns lots of properties around this city, including at least one other hotel. Hotels have rugs, Beckett, lots of them."
"That's a stretch, but we can talk to Creason. But I want to talk to Frank Nesbit first. Laurie Horn said he always knew where her husband was. Maybe he can help fill in our timeline."
"It's your case, Detective. Shall we?"
"Let's go."
Kate strides up to a tall, overweight man talking to an intern at Horn's campaign headquarters. "I'm Detective Kate Beckett. This is Mr. Castle. We're looking for Frank Nesbit. We need to ask him some questions about Councilman Horn."
"I'm Frank Nesbit. That's all. Thanks, Ryan," Nesbit dismisses the young man. "Everyone here is reeling. We've called in grief counselors. I know it's a cliché, but Jeff meant a lot to all of us."
"It sounds like he was more to you than just a candidate," Castle observes.
"We were friends, and we wanted to change the world," Nesbit claims.
"From the City Council, that would be quite a trick," Castle comments.
"The City Council was just the first step, Mr. Castle," Nesbit replies. "Jeff could have made it to mayor. Mayor Lindsey used to say mayor of New York is the second biggest job in the country. He ran for President in 1972."
"He never made it to the nomination," Castle recalls. "Neither did Giuliani in 2008."
"But both of those men got a lot done," Nesbit counters. "Jeff could have too."
"Mr. Nesbit," Kate jumps in, "were you with Councilman Horn last night?"
"Yeah, I was with him at a fundraiser until, uh, I don't know, about eleven. I offered to share a cab, but he said he wanted to walk."
"And where was that fundraiser?" Kate inquires.
"Marconi's, 83rd off Broadway."
"That's just a dozen blocks from here," Castle realizes.
"But Mr. Horn's body was found all the way downtown. What would he have been doing there?" Kate queries.
Nesbit spreads his hands. "I don't know. We had nothing on the schedule happening down there, it's not even Jeff's district."
"Did he have any enemies?" Kate asks.
"He was a politician. Someone always had a beef about something. It comes with the territory."
"What about his opponent?" Kate questions.
"Jason Bollinger. Unfortunately, Bollinger had no reason to try to hurt Jeff. At the last poll, Bollinger was up eight points. That's why last night's fundraiser was important. We were playing catch up."
"Anyone make any threats recently?" Kate probes.
"Just the usual crackpots, unless you count the hate mail from Calvin Creason."
Castle's eyebrow quirks. "Calvin Creason, the hotel magnate? Hmm, he owns a couple of clubs, too."
"That's right," Nesbit confirms. "And he wanted another one as part of his hotel chain. He bought the old meatpacking warehouse on the Lower East Side. He wanted to turn it into the next in spot with 300 rooms, a Saki bar, and a nightclub. Some of Jeff's supporters are also developing property down there. They didn't want a bunch of bridge and tunnel people coming in and tearing up the neighborhood. So they asked Jeff to kill the project."
"And did he?" Kate asks.
"He at least managed to put it on hold."
"So with Councilman Horn's death, Calvin Creason could be free to proceed with his plans?" Castle queries.
"It's possible," Nesbit concedes. "But could someone kill Jeff over building permits?"
"People have killed over a lot less," Kate replies grimly.
As Kate slides behind the wheel of her unit, she glances at Castle. "You don't have to look so proud of yourself. Anyway, you thought someone might be trying to frame Creason, not that he's a suspect."
"So now he's a suspect?"
"Maybe. It will depend on where he was last night at Horn's TOD."
"Ah, filling in the timeline. So you think Creason may have seen Horn after Nesbit did."
"His flagship hotel is in lower Manhattan. It's not a bad bet."
"No," Castle agrees. "Not a bad bet at all."
Creason spreads himself over a couch with his feet on an ottoman. "You want to know what I did when I found out Horn was dead, Detective? I opened a perfectly chilled bottle of Crys and toasted the sweetness of the universe."
"That's pretty callous, Mr. Creason," Kate replies.
"Listen, what do I care?" Creason responds. "The guy was such a putz, acting like another hotel going up would be the end of the world. Do you have any idea how many jobs one of my hotels provides; how much it contributes to the local economy? The city should be paying me to put one up."
"But instead, while Horn was blocking you, you were hemorrhaging cash," Castle rejoins. "You had to pay taxes on your property, keep it up to code, and prevent vandalism and dumping, all without the promise of future income to offset your costs. That's a pretty good motive for murder."
Creason's pale skin reddens. "If I killed everyone who got in my way, there would be bodies stacked higher than the Chrysler building. You're not a cop. Who the hell are you to accuse me of anything?"
"Mr. Castle is an, um, civilian investigator," Kate interjects. "And he's right. You did have a pretty good motive for murder. Where were you last night?"
"At my club."
"Did anyone see you there?"
Creason points to the bulge in his pants. "Detective, when I go out, everyone sees me."
"Thank you, Mr. Creason. We'll check on that."
"Creason, more like grease on," Castle whispers as he and Kate leave Creason's office. "I could use a shower. Where to next?"
"To check his alibi."
Castle points through an open door where a maid is vacuuming. "Look! See anything familiar?"
"The rug, it's exactly like the one that was wrapped around the body."
"So, in addition to being slimy, is Creason stupid enough to leave a clue that would point straight at him?"
"Castle, you wouldn't believe some of the stupid things killers I've arrested did. But let's check his alibi and see if it was even possible."