Confession Chapter 48

Castle's phone signals an email. "Ooh, Beckett, it's from Anna Boyman. She's got some time before she's giving a seminar to some grad students and says she can meet us at the morgue."

"That's perfect, Castle," Kate says, sliding behind the wheel of her unit. "I want to get the snake thing settled as soon as possible."

"I'm more intrigued by the Arthurian aspects of this case," Castle confides, as Kate starts the engine. "The legendary Morgan was a witch or sorcerous of sorts. Depending on which version of the story you go with, she studied with Merlin. But she was more apt to kill than be killed. And the snake part doesn't really figure into it at all."

"Maybe because you are talking about fiction and the body on Lanie's table is real. Morgan Gorlois was a human being, not some magical creature. Humans have quirks. You have five lightsabers."

"Six, I just got a new one. More realistic sound."

"A more realistic version of a fictional weapon," Kate teases. "In police work, we have to stick with straight reality."

Castle sighs. "Sometimes police work can really take all the fun out of a mystery."

Kate reaches across the console to stroke his thigh. "We'll just have to save the fun for the off-duty hours."

"Bless Gates' adherence to shifts."


Anna Boyman examines Morgan's neck under Lanie's powerful magnifier. "Those impressions weren't made by a snake," she declares. "The shape is close, but they're too rough, too uneven."

"Like a faux snakeskin belt or something?" Kate inquires.

"Not a belt," Lanie says, "the imprint would have straight edges."

Anna studies the marks. "This looks like someone tried to make a fake snake. And to an untrained eye, it would look real."

"Maybe a prop snake of some kind?" Castle suggests.

Anna nods. "Yes, from what I'm seeing, that's possible. And it looks like the pattern of a diamondback rattlesnake."

"Some western movies use those," Castle notes. "It's a lot cheaper than renting snakes and hiring a wrangler. Mother was in three films that did that. If it's a prop, perhaps it came from a prop house."

"That's not a bad thought, Castle," Kate says. "Let's start checking those out. And Dr. Boyman, thank you. You've been very helpful."

Anna looks questioningly at Rick. "The usual?"

He grins. "Absolutely."


"OK, Castle, give! What's the usual?" Kate demands as they leave the Medical Examiner's Building.

"Just a little thank you treat."

"What kind of a thank you treat?"

"Three bars of DeLafée Swiss chocolate."

"She can't buy her own chocolate bars?"

"A herpetologist working for a non-profit? DeLafée's a little pricey for her pay grade."

"How pricey?"

"About $4.90 a gram. But the bars are small, only about three ounces."

"Still, isn't that about $500 a bar?"

"Something like that, depending on the exchange rate."

"$1,500 is a nice thank you."

"Kate, if it leads us to the murderer, it's more than worth it. I'll order some extra for you if you want."

"No thanks, Castle, but those dark chocolate dipped cookies…."

"Say no more."


"I checked with the prop master of the last western mother did," Castle reports.

"Your mother is still making westerns?"

"It was four years ago. She played the town madam. They had a scene in the desert where the hero is menaced by a rattler. He said he got it from Proppa Props Unlimited in L.A. But they have a branch in NYC for supplying plays and TV shows shot East of the Rockies. It's up in the Bronx, probably the closest place they can afford the kind of storage space an outfit like that would need. You want to give them a call?"

"I'd rather just drop in," Kate decides. "If someone there is involved in Morgan's murder, I don't want to give them a heads up."


The shelves in Proppa Props seem to stretch forever, stocked with everything from lab equipment to treasure chests. The manager, Danny Elfson, poises his fingers over a computer keyboard. "A rattlesnake, you said?"

"A diamondback," Castle clarifies.

Elfson types. "Yes, we have one, aisle 12, bin 31 C. Follow me." He leads Kate and Castle to a spot almost dead center in the warehouse. "It should be…that's strange. I don't see it."

"Could one of your staff have rented it out without recording it?" Kate asks.

"No," Elfson insists. "All our props have embedded RFIDs so we can track their locations. If one left the building, the computer would automatically record it as shipped out."

"Are the RFIDs ever deactivated?" Castle asks.

"Yes, if a prop is damaged or sold."

"And who could do that?" Kate queries.

"I could, or my assistant, Ivan, Ivan Girosol."

Castle's eyebrow arches at the name.

"And where is Ivan?" Kate inquires.

"He called in sick with the flu three days ago. He isn't back yet."

"Do you have his contact information?" Kate asks.

"Yeah, sure. I'll get it for you, Detective. Look, Ivan can be a little, um, strange, sometimes. But he's a good guy. I'm sure whatever happened to that prop was perfectly innocent."

Kate throws Elfson an understanding smile. "You're probably right, Mr. Elfson. But I have to check out every possibility."

Castle vibrates with excitement as he and Kate leave the prop warehouse. "Beckett, Gore said Morgan's son is named Ivan. And Girosol is an anagram of Gorlois."

"I know, Castle. The address Elfson gave us for Ivan is in Mott Haven. That's our next stop."


Casey Griswold, PhD, checks out a scan of Morgan Gorlois' bones. "Your age approximation of her organs was in the right ballpark, Dr. Parish. From what I can see here, I'd say this woman was in her late seventies, maybe early eighties."

"Then how would you account for her facial appearance?" Lanie queries.

"It's strange but not as strange as you might believe. When I was a grad student, I was part of an expedition to study a tribe in the Amazon. Many of the women there looked amazingly young, even when they were referred to as wise women, which is what they called their elder matriarchs. I was told it was due to an herbal mixture they used on their faces. It apparently imbued the skin with enough moisture to prevent the majority of wrinkles and sagging. I put out a paper on it at the time which attracted some interest from cosmetics firms. But they determined that pursuing a cosmetic application would be untenable."

"Why is that?" Lanie asks.

"Because a mixture like that would be too complex to be synthesized. It would have to be produced from the actual plants, and I didn't even know which ones those were. The wise women never gave up the secret, which made them very wise. If some corporation had come down there to try and grab all the plants they needed, it could have killed off the tribe. Everyone in academia wants to make their mark, but I was foolish to have even mentioned the women's custom. I'm glad now that things worked out the way they did."

"So do you think it's possible that Morgan Gorlois discovered a similar formula?"

Griswold shrugs. "Anything is possible, Dr. Parish. And if she discovered one made with plants that could be grown outside of the Amazon, it might have been worth killing for."