Shared Obsession Chapter 132
Danielle sinks heavily to a couch in the apartment she shares with Jessica Margolis. "Jessica and I have been roommates since freshman year. We've been together so long we're practically sisters."
"Tyler said you might know where she kept the cuffs he gave her," Beckett prompts.
"Oh, she showed them to me when she got them. But I never saw them after that. Sorry."
"And when was the last time you saw Jessica?" Beckett asks.
Danielle thinks for a moment. "Yesterday morning."
"What about her research?" Castle inquires. "Did she ever talk to you about where she met the, uh, people involved?"
"No, she kept all that to herself."
Esposito and Ryan walk into the room. "Detective Beckett," Esposito says.
Kate nods apologetically at Danielle. "Excuse me."
The detectives and Castle gather in a corner out of Danielle's earshot. "So the bed hasn't been slept in," Esposito reports. "There's no sign of a struggle."
"Cell phone, purse?" Kate queries.
"Nada," Ryan responds.
"Which means she was somewhere else when she was killed," Kate figures. "OK. Let's put a trace on her cell phone. If she has a GPS locator, we might get lucky."
"All right." Ryan agrees.
Beckett and Castle return to Danielle. "Did Jessica mention where she was going to be last night?" Kate asks.
"No. I-I got in around ten. It didn't look like she'd been home. Since Tyler was on call, I assumed she'd be up at the university working on her dissertation."
"Do you know who her advisor was?" Castle asks.
"Professor Stevenson."
"Thank you, Danielle," Kate says, and motions Castle toward the door.
"For women who were described as being joined at the hip, Jessica and Danielle seemed to do remarkably little sharing," Castle observes as Kate heads her unit toward Hudson University."
"What do you mean, Castle?"
"I mean that dissertations can be dry as dirt. I've used a few of them for research into criminal behavior. Not usually the most captivating reading, even for interesting subject matter. But what Jessica was digging into would have yielded, at the very least, some titillating stories – if communicated in non-pedagogical language. Jessica could have kept out identifying details and still told some very interesting tales. You would think Danielle would have heard something. And why would Jessica have to do her writing at the university? It's not like she had to use lab equipment or something. With a laptop, she could have easily written at home – with quick access to a coffee pot and the refrigerator."
"A situation with which you are very familiar," Kate notes.
"Indeed. But that would leave us with the possibility of one of the women hiding something. Either Danielle wasn't being completely straight with us or Jessica was holding her cards very close to her chest."
"Or both," Kate offers. "But we'll see if Professor Stevenson can shed more light on what Jessica was up to. CSU found tracks from a suitcase used to bring the body to the playground. And Lanie confirmed that Jessica wasn't killed there. So from the way the murder scene was staged, it had to have been connected to her work somehow. Her advisor could be in the best position to tell us how."
Professor Stevenson's office might have started out in life as a broom closet. His desk, filing cabinet, and bookcase take up almost every square inch of floor space. Kate and Castle stand on what's left. "I wish I could help you," Stevenson says. "Sometimes Jessica would work late, but she wasn't here last night."
"Are you sure about that?" Kate questions.
"I was here until 11:00 grading papers. I would have seen her," Stevenson claims.
"As her advisor, how much would you know about the people she was researching?" Kate probes.
"She was spending a lot of time with a dominatrix called Mistress Venom," Stevenson responds.
"Mistress Venom?" Castle echoes.
"I know it sounds more Penthouse than Ph.D.," Stevenson replies almost apologetically. "People who study sex-related fields are often derided in academia. Jessica was determined not to be held hostage by their little minds. Venom was Jessica's guide to that world. If you want to know more about the people Jessica was studying, you'd have to ask Venom." Stephenson guides Kate and Castle into a larger adjoining office, with several desks. "Kelly, this is Detective Beckett and Mr. Castle. They need to see Jessica's research."
"We'll need some help with that," Kelly says. "She keeps her notes in her locked file and I can't get in – unless you have a key, Professor."
Stevenson shakes his head. "I don't pry into anything my advisees aren't ready to discuss. But Otto should be able to get it open. I'll call him."
A janitor shows up shortly and goes to work on the file cabinet's lock. Kate has a set of picks in her purse but doesn't even want to think about what a smart defense lawyer would do with evidence obtained that way. It's on university property. Better to let university personnel hand it over.
"Why did Jessica keep her notes locked up?" Castle queries Kelly as Otto works.
"She was a finalist for the Kellerman fellowship," the young woman explains. "You know when you're competing against other people in the department the last thing you want to do is leave your notes lying around."
"Well, it looks like a lot of late nights," Kate says.
Kelly nods. "When Tyler was on shift, she'd pull an all-nighter and go visit him on his breaks."
A young man walks into the office. "Kelly, did you hear how they found her?"
"Matt," Kelly tries to interrupt.
"Tied to the monkey bars in a playground in her underwear."
"Matt," Kelly says more forcefully, "This is Detective Beckett. She's investigating Jessica's death." Kelly turns to Beckett and Castle. "Matt, Jess, and I all started the Ph.D. program at the same time."
Sarcasm tinges Kate's voice. "I can tell you were close."
Matt takes a step back. "I'm sorry, it's just…."
"Kelly, did Jessica have any enemies in the department, anyone she didn't get along with?" Kate interjects.
"Just because we were competing for the same fellowship doesn't mean we weren't civil," Matt claims.
"Not everyone was civil," Kelly inserts. "In the last few weeks, Jessica was getting these phone calls on her office line."
"What kind of calls?" Beckett asks.
"Heavy breathing, moaning. Made you want to take a hand sanitizer shower."
"Seems a little immature for grad students," Castle comments.
"Look," Matt retorts, "I'm studying the impact of AIDS treatments on inner-city clinics. Kelly is about overcoming the glass ceiling. And Jessica was watching a dominatrix dig her stiletto into some loser's chest. She was bound to get some grief for it."
"From one standpoint, what Jessica was studying probably reaches back through human history and will most likely remain as part of the human condition. The problems you two are addressing are serious, but may eventually pass with the times. Some might see what Jessica was doing as more universal and far-reaching," Castle points out.
Matt snorts. "Maybe if some porno king was funding a fellowship. Kelly and I…."
"Got it!" Otto proclaims.
Brinkman doesn't remember how he got from the cot to the chair. He is only vaguely aware of the IV drip into his arm and a voice seeming to come from far away. "What were your plans for Beckett and Castle?" the voice demands.
Brinkman doesn't want to answer. Most of his life has been about veiling his activities. He's had a few narrow escapes but has never actually been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. He's not about to start now. But somehow the words are spilling out of his mouth. He can't even close it. "They were too close. What they would have testified to about Bracken could have implicated me. I couldn't have that. The car would have blown up, killing them."
"How was the driver supposed to get away?" Cross asks, more out of curiosity than need.
"He wasn't. He would have been collateral damage."
"And that wouldn't bother you?" Cross questions.
"Sooner or later everyone's expendable," Brinkman declares.
Cross considers the work of his own agency. Unfortunately, brutal as it is, Brinkman's thinking is far from unique. But apparently, unlike Brinkman, most operatives care. Or at least he hopes they do.