Confession Chapter 30
"And separate from our investigation of Simmons' connection to Bracken, yet strangely adjacent, is this little tidbit," Castle announces. "Victoria Gates and Elizabeth Weston are sisters."
"As in Captain Victoria Gates and U.S. Attorney for the SDNY Elizabeth Weston?" Kate questions.
"The same. And Elizabeth is the younger of the two."
Kate takes a swig from a frosted mug of root beer. "If they're sisters, Gates should welcome us bringing the Simmons-Bracken connection to the SDNY, especially since it might tie in with Reince Prince's murder."
A lock of hair strays over Castle's eyes as he shakes his head. "Don't be too sure, Beckett. I did a pretty thorough search on those two. Up until a few years ago, there were happy, smiling photos of the crime-busting sisters. But after that, no one ever snapped them together. And I found one small blurb about Weston scowling when Gates was testifying about something. Unless my people-watching skills are seriously failing me, I think Vicky and Liz may be estranged."
Kate considers Castle's conjecture while automatically brushing the errant strand from his forehead. "Wow! If that's true, it could make pulling my investigation into Prince's death even harder."
Castle rakes his fingers through his hair. "Thank you and why? What have you found out?"
"Not that much. The boys' canvass turned up nothing. We checked the video in the garage where Prince was killed, for vehicles coming in and out around the time of the murder. Unfortunately, there was a steady stream of them coming in, arbitragers starting their workday. We're working our way through interviewing all of them. But no vehicles exited during the critical period. So the killer must have left on foot. He may have come in that way, too."
"You're sure it's a he?" Castle asks.
"Not 100%," Kate admits. "But Lanie said Prince was stabbed to death. The knife completely penetrated the chest cavity, which would have taken considerable strength. Also, the penetration came from above, which would have made the killer taller than Prince. He was only five-eight, so it could have been a tall, strong woman. Still, the foreign exchange traders would have been coming in that time of morning, and 80% of those are men. A woman would probably have been noticed."
"So the killer, most likely male, would have been walking in and walking out. No surveillance or ATM cameras nearby?"
"No external ATMs. Several of the buildings around there have them inside."
"No doubt to encourage employees to patronize affiliated financial institutions," Castle asserts.
"Or to keep them from getting mugged," Kate suggests. "And the surveillance cameras monitor the entrances to the brokerages themselves. None of them catch the entrances to the garage. There is an internal staircase from YY&F down to the garage, but there aren't any cameras there either."
"YY&F," Castle considers. "Isn't that one of those places with the late-night TV ads telling people they can invest as little as $5 for pieces of shares?"
"Maybe. I've never seen them," Kate admits. "Why would that make a difference?"
"Because if it is, it would have a boiler room, lots of people on phones and computers, either in a bullpen or in little cubicles. I was thinking of using one in a book once, but the chapter didn't work and I cut it. But anyway, the employees wouldn't be a bunch of expensive suits from the old-boys network. There would be a lot of them, coming and going depending on how many investors they could pull in. They wouldn't all know each other, or recognize a strange face. So if there's a stairwell directly into the building from the garage, YY&F would have to control access somehow, maybe with a magnetic card or something. If it does, there could be some kind of record if someone came up the stairs into YY&F during the kill zone."
Kate nods slowly. "It's worth checking, Castle."
"But returning to our regularly scheduled program, I've been trying to track down that stringer who was chasing after Michaelson Rafferty, but the trail went cold. I haven't found any more articles or even a blog post from him since Exeter-Price scuttled the Global Tattler. It's like he disappeared from the surface of the Earth."
"Or ended up somewhere he couldn't communicate – like jail. If he follows jerks like Rafferty around, maybe someone accused him of stalking," Kate suggests. "If I get in before Gates does tomorrow I can run him. What's his name?"
"Tim Wheeler. You'll let me know if you find anything?"
"As soon as I can."
As Kate exits the elevator at the 12th Precinct, she notes that the lights are still off in Gates' office. Taking a seat at her desk as rapidly as she can without attracting too much attention, she immediately signs on to the NYPD database. "All right, Tim Wheeler," she mutters under her breath, "where are you?"
As he's about to pour the egg mixture for his morning scramble into the pan, Castle's phone alerts him to a text. Almost spilling the yellow liquid, Castle shoves his mixing pitcher on the counter and retrieves his cell from his pocket. "Tim Wheeler charged with stalking in the third degree and criminal trespass," the message from Kate proclaims. "Electronically monitored. Restricted until trial from following or questioning Michaelson Rafferty or other celebrities. At SRO 2400 Amsterdam."
Castle takes in the address. Not the nicest part of town, but about what he would expect a stringer who can't string to occupy. As soon as Alexis is off to school, he'll pay Tim Wheeler a visit. And given the situation, he'll bring food."
Closing his eyes, Tim Wheeler takes a huge bite of a breakfast burrito supreme. "Oh God! This is so good! I can hardly afford whatever outdated garbage they have at the dollar store."
"Oh, I get it!" Castle sympathizes. "Before 'In a Hail of Bullets' hit, I considered a second cup of ramen a feast. And no judge ever ordered me to stop doing my job."
Wheeler sighs. "Damn Michaelson Rafferty and his depraved pals. I wasn't doing anything a good reporter wouldn't do. I didn't keep him from his business. I didn't try to intimidate him. I just wanted to get the story."
"What story?" Castle asks.
Wheeler's eyes suddenly narrow. "How do I know you won't put what I tell you in your next Nikki Heat and cut me out entirely?"
"Well for one thing, because my next Nikki Heat is already past the editing process and ready for Black Pawn to release. But that wasn't what you were really asking. If you've read Heat Wave, a Derrick Storm, or any of my novels, then you know I scrupulously acknowledge anyone who has contributed in any way to one of my stories. So if anything you tell me ends up sparking something in one of my books, you'll get full credit. But more than that, I work with Kate Beckett to solve murders. We suspect that the mansion you followed Michaelson Rafferty to in the woods may be connected to more than one death. And the deaths will be ongoing. There may be another one under investigation as we speak. And if you were right about the busloads of women, that could point to an entirely different kind of crime. But you can help to bust the whole thing wide open. All I need is the location of that mansion."
Tim looks over what's left of his burrito at Castle. "I don't know. What if talking to you gets me into even more trouble?"
"You could ask your lawyer if talking to me will impact your case," Castle suggests.
Fragments of tortilla fly from Tim's mouth. "Are you kidding? I have a public defender. He had about two minutes to talk to me before I was arraigned and I haven't seen or talked to him since."
"Then I think we can do better than that," Castle says. "How about if I get you a lawyer who isn't juggling a hundred other cases? No strings. If they decide it's not in your best interests to talk to me, that's it." Castle points at Tim's ankle monitor. "But maybe we can find a way to get you out of that thing and back to work."
Tim stares at him. "You'll spring for a lawyer? Are you serious?"
"A writer's gotta write, Tim. You're part of the club. Besides, what have you got to lose?" Castle extends his hand. "Deal?"
"Deal."