Shared Obsession Chapter 23
"The club is closed," a large man standing in front of Calvin's Alley declares. "We don't open until eleven, and the line-up starts at ten." His gaze sweeps up and down Kate. "You're hot enough to get in if you change your clothes and put on some decent makeup." He inclines his head toward Castle. "But I don't know about him."
Castle pulls out his wallet and displays his titanium card. "What about now?"
"I guess you'd be all right, Man. But like I said, you'll have to come back later and get in line."
"I'm not interested in waiting," Kate declares, "or overpaying for watered-down drinks." She holds up her badge. "But I do have some questions. And you are?"
"George Gilbert, first shift security manager."
"Mr. Gilbert, was Calvin Creason here last night?" Kate asks.
"Sure, yeah, the boss is always here. That's why people push to get in. They want to get a look at him, maybe get a picture with the man."
"A crowd with questionable taste," Castle comments.
"What time did he arrive? Was he here when you opened?" Kate asks.
"No. He came in at his usual time, around one. It hypes up the anticipation."
"And people buy more drinks when they have to wait," Castle surmises.
"Yes they do," George confirms. "The boss knows his business. He works hard at it."
"We'll see just how hard," Kate replies.
"According to Nesbit, Horn left the fundraiser about eleven and started walking," Castle recounts on the way back to Kate's unit. "The timing would have been a little tight for him to make it downtown, meet up with Creason, be killed and wrapped in a rug by him, in time for Calvin to make his entrance."
"Tight, but possible," Kate muses as she starts the car. "We need to talk to Creason again."
"I don't suppose you've got any hazmat suits in the trunk, or at least some hand sanitizer?"
"I've got wipes in the glove compartment, Castle. After we talk to Creason, you can knock yourself out. Or do you want me to drop you off somewhere? Don't you have to prepare for your dramatic reading?"
"I don't know how dramatic it would have been, but I got a text from Gina. The reading's been put off until tomorrow night. The truck carrying the books for the stores in the city jackknifed on the Thruway."
"Is everyone all right?"
"Gina didn't mention any injuries. But apparently, my prose covered the road. The stores won't be ready to go with the books until tomorrow night. And Alexis has a violin lesson this evening. So I'm free as a bird to continue dogging your footsteps. Wow, I don't usually mix my metaphors like that. At least they were both in the animal kingdom. So we might as well get our return to the grease man over with."
"You honestly believe I killed that idiot Horn?" Creason questions, incredulity flickering over his face. "Look around. Stupid doesn't buy this and killing Horn would have been an incredibly stupid thing to do. His opponent, Bollinger, was beating him hands down. He's running on a platform of more jobs. He was all for my project. And I think he had something on Horn. So all I had to do was wait. Why take the risk of killing Horn and throwing suspicion on myself or Bollinger?"
"And yet, Horn was wrapped in a rug from your hotel. Mr. Creason, just tell me where you were between eleven o'clock last night and the time you arrived at Calvin's Alley," Kate orders.
"I recently replaced a load of rugs. Some of the old ones went to various charities. Some of them were thrown out. Anyone could have gotten their hands on one. But to answer your question, Detective, I was asleep." Creason grabs a magazine from a table and tosses it to Kate. "Look at my profile. It's on page 29. 'Like many successful people, Calvin Creason does his best to stay at the top of his game,'" Creason quotes from memory. "'He sleeps from six until midnight to maintain a presence in his club.' That story was written over a month ago. Do you think I told the reporter that, on the off chance I'd need an alibi? And you can check with my people. For years they've been under strict instructions that I take no calls during that time. And my maid has to make sure I have clean sheets, and the drapes are closed, so I'm ready to hit the pillow. Let me know if you find the real killer, Detective. I'll send the guy a bottle from my private collection."
Kate sighs as she settles into the driver's seat. "Well, that puts us back at square one."
"Come on, Beckett. Really? I thought Creason was a red herring all along, and I believe you did too. You were just going through the ponderous cop motions. Didn't that drive you crazy?" Castle questions.
"What drives me crazy is that we don't have another suspect. Who besides Creason profits from Horn's death?"
"How about Bollinger? Nesbit said Horn was having success with fundraising. Maybe his opponent was afraid that by election day, Horn would catch up. Lust is a great motivator."
"What does lust have to do with it? Did I miss something about a woman?"
"Lust for power, Beckett. It's what drove at least half the villains in my Storm novels."
"This isn't one of your novels."
"It's part of my research for one," Castle insists. "But my writer's curiosity aside, shouldn't we go see Bollinger?"
Kate steers into traffic. "Might as well. I can't think of anything better."
"Is the statement ready?" Bollinger demands of an eager intern.
"Mike's still working on it," she reports.
"Well, tell Mike that the Ledger website updates in 20 minutes and I want my quote of outrage and sympathy in a damn article," Bollinger commands before turning to Kate and Castle. "I'm sorry. Since we found out about Horn's murder, it's been all hands on deck. If I don't handle a tragedy like this right, I could get crucified. But how can I help the NYPD?"
"Mr. Bollinger," Kate begins.
Bollinger flashes a suddenly engaging smile. "Jason. Mr. Bollinger's my father."
"A former councilman himself, if I recall. Now serving in the State Senate with an eye toward the House of Representatives?" Castle inquires.
"That's correct, Mr. Castle," Bollinger confirms.
"Apparently political ambitions run in the family," Castle notes.
"If you mean a call to public service, yes," Bollinger replies. "But Detective, you said you had questions for me?"
"Yes. How well do you know Calvin Creason?"
Caution tinges Bollinger's tone. "He threw me a couple of fundraisers. We met a few times. Why?"
"Mr. Creason seems to think you have information about Mr. Horn that might tip the election in your favor," Kate replies.
"He implied it was dirt," Castle adds.
Bollinger draws in a breath, sinking down to sit on the edge of a table. "I commissioned opposition research. It's SOP these days. And my private investigator did come up with something. But we were so far ahead I had no intention of using it. Even bringing up the subject would not have looked good for my campaign. So I shoved it in a drawer. It's still there."
"Any chance that whatever it is might provide a motive for someone to murder Horn?" Kate queries.
"I don't see how it could," Bollinger claims.
"I'm going to need to see it anyway," Kate decides.
"I'll get it for you," Bollinger agrees.
In Kate's unit, Castle flips through photographs from a fat manilla envelope Bollinger gave Kate. "Laurie Horn thinks her husband is devoted to her and his family. The armor of the white knight is severely tarnished. Maybe that's why he slipped out of it – completely. I know men act like this, Beckett, but as many times as I've written about it, I've never understood why."
"Castle, that makes two of us."