Confession Chapter 26

Kate regards the body next to a kneeling Lanie Parish. "Why is it always a parking garage, and one where the video only covers entrances and exits for vehicles?"

Head wagging on her neck, Lanie looks up at her friend. "What are you complaining about? I'm the one with holes in my hose and sore knees. And this guy was killed around 4 am. That means the killer could have strode in here pretty much unseen and left the same way. It was a smart setup."

"Any ID on him?" Kate asks.

"No wallet. No work badge. No jewelry either. But," Lanie adds, "his teeth are way too perfect to be natural. I'm guessing he'll have implants we can trace. I'll know more when I get him back to the lab."

"We'll canvass, see if anyone saw anything," Esposito says.

"A lot of these Wall Street guys are around early to catch the opening of the Asian markets," Ryan adds.

"Have you gotten into day trading?" Kate inquires.

"I was thinking about it," Ryan admits. "But I told Castle and he showed me an article about supposed financial experts not doing any better than someone throwing darts to decide what to buy or sell in the stock market. And I checked. That guy who shouts all that financial advice on TV? If anyone actually followed it, they'd end up broke. And one of the Nobel laureates in economics admitted that he predicted six out of the last four recessions. No one really knows how the market will go. The odds are way against any kind of a big score."

"And yet the man wastes his money on lottery tickets," Esposito interjects.

"At least I'm only losing a few bucks, not my shirt," Ryan argues. "Besides, for a couple of days until the drawing I get to dream."

"Dream when you get home. Right now make your canvass," Kate orders.

Esposito grabs Ryan's arm. "Come on, Bro."

Kate gets down next to Lanie to examine the victim's suit. "This is high-end. High quality wool. Seams allow for alterations."

Lanie pushes herself to a stand. "Look at you, fashion girl. When did you develop an interest in men's clothes?"

"I learned a little the summer I modeled. And Castle wears the good stuff, although he usually needs Alexis to pick out his ties for him."

"Alexis or you?"

Kate reddens. "He may have asked my advice once or twice."

Lanie quirks an eyebrow. "I see. So?"

"So what?"

"So it's been over two months since you were shot, Kate. Your doctor signed off on you going back to work." Lanie lowers her voice. "By now it should be OK to …. I mean you must at least be thinking about it."

"More like dreaming about it," Kate whispers. "But I'm trying to get him back into the precinct. And if Gates thinks we're, uh, together, she might not let him work with me. Fraternization rules. I checked. She came from Internal Affairs. She's a stickler for the book."

"I thought the fraternization rules were about cops seeing cops they work with."

"They are."

"Castle's not a cop."

"No," Kate considers, "he's not."


"The victim's name is Reince Prince," Lanie announces when Kate visits the morgue the next day. "His official residence is in Bethesda, Maryland. That's a suburb of DC."

"Right," Kate agrees. "You get anything else?"

"That's your job, Girl. I just traced his fancy dental work."

"I wonder what he was doing in New York," Kate muses.

Lanie shrugs. "Considering how he bled out in a garage in the financial district, I'm guessing nothing good."


"Did you say, Reince Prince?" Castle asks, laying out leftover lasagna he brought to share with Kate for dinner at her apartment.

"Uh-huh. Not exactly a forgettable name. But I haven't been able to find much on him. No rap sheet. Grew up in New York City. Harvard grad. Supposedly a political operative in DC but no one I talked to knew exactly what his job was. His online bios list him as a consultant."

Castle shakes his head. "Everyone in DC is a consultant. The lobbyists use it as cover and the ambitious claim it to seem busy while looking for a job with some power. But the press keeps track of a lot of those guys. Some of them eventually become sources or worth covering in their own right. In the meantime, they'll help them along with a mention here and there."

"And you have access to all those mentions, don't you?"

Castle's brows dance above his eyes. "I do indeed. If you would like to accompany me to the loft after our repast, as your consultant, we can run a search together."

"I haven't brought you up to Gates yet," Kate confesses. "I wanted to have something first. But if we find some info that points us toward Prince's killer, that may be just what I need."

"Then let us hope our endeavor is fruitful."


"And here he is," Castle announces, his fingers arched over his keyboard. "Reince Prince, seen in earnest conversation with – wow! Seen in earnest conversation with rising DC star Wiliam Bracken."

"When was that?" Kate asks.

"Two years ago. If he was in Bracken's inner circle, he'd been there for a while."

"What else can you find?"

"Let's see. This is an accounting of a Senate hearing on rising drug use. Prince was advising Bracken, who insisted that federal investigations should focus on interstate transportation of drugs."

"In other words, stay out of local affairs," Kate translates. "Which Bracken would want them to do if he was protecting drugs coming into New York to be sold by…."

"Vulcan Simmons," Castle finishes. "And Prince was a local boy. He might have been Bracken's go-between with Simmons. But why would he end up dead? Drug war?"

"Or because he was being targeted by the SDNY to flip on his boss," Kate proposes. "I wonder if Weston's people know he's dead."

"How could they?" Castle wonders. "Lanie just identified the body this afternoon, didn't she?"

"Yes, she did. And his death could be totally unrelated. He was robbed."

"Which could just be a coverup for a hit," Castle says.

"Yes it could," Kate agrees. "But we need more before we take this to the SDNY or even to Gates. If Prince was involved with drugs in New York, he'd have to show up in a report somewhere. Or maybe some of Ryan's old buddies in Narcotics would know the name."

"Or I might have another source," Castle considers. "During my last visit to Black Pawn, I met up with another author, a new one, Reston Caldwell. He did a college thesis on the connections between the government and the drug trade. That was mostly about the involvement of the CIA in overseas drug activity. But he's working on a book about more local activities and their ties to Washington. If this Reince Prince guy was Bracken's connection to Simmons, Caldwell might just have some of the dirt."

"Do you think he'd be willing to share it?" Kate asks.

"If sharing it would eventually lead to promotion for his book, it would be in his best interests to do so, but," Castle consults the time at the corner of his screen, "it's getting late. And unlike many writers, he's not a night owl. He says he does his best writing in the morning. He doesn't even drink coffee. A true unicorn. But come morning, I will give him a call. So what would you like to do until then?"

"Castle, I won't be writing, but I have to be at work early in the morning too. Gates has us all signing in when we arrive and recording when we go anywhere, even just to the food truck. I have to go home and sleep."

"And even without Gates, you should. You are still healing. I'll take you home."

"I can catch a cab," Kate offers.

"At this time of night most of them are hanging around the theaters and restaurants," Castle reminds her. "Even if you stick out one of your incredible legs, you still might have trouble snagging one. I'll take you home."

The thought of the temptation to do something more than sleep niggles at Kate's brain. But she's a lot better off if she fights it – for now. "Let's go. You can drop me off."