Confession Chapter 61
Castle studies the flesh-bound grinning countenance. "That can't be what killed her. There's not enough blood."
"Mm-hmm." Lanie acknowledges. "It was definitely done post-mortem."
"So what was the COD?" Kate asks.
"Probably blunt force trauma. I found evidence of a blow to the back of the head. But that may not have been all of it." Lanie opens Victoria Masterson's mouth wider. "Look."
Castle's brows rise. "Pumpkin seeds?"
"More than just the seeds, Castle," Lanie says. "It looks like the killer shoved all the slimy pumpkin stuff down her throat."
"I take it pumpkin carving isn't our ME's favorite activity," Castle guesses.
"Oh, I'll carve them all right, but cleaning them is just nasty," Lanie declares.
"Says the woman who regularly examines human entrails," Castle notes. "Ah, well, a foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds – Emerson."
Lanie gestures at the jack-o'lanterns. "There's enough hobgoblins around here already."
"Getting back to Ms. Masterson, what was the TOD?" Kate asks.
"Between nine and eleven last night."
"The Center closes at nine," Castle considers. "Someone could have stayed and attacked her once everyone was gone. There should be security video of who came and went, but only at the main entrance. The other exits are fire doors. An alarm would sound if someone tried to use them. But, I think there is a delivery entrance for materials and art featured in exhibits. I've never used it, so I don't know about the security."
"We'll check it out," Beckett says. "And I'll get CSU in to start printing and gathering evidence."
Castle gazes around. "That could be worse than printing a motel room. This space is used a lot. There could be hundreds of prints, maybe thousands."
Kate sighs. "Maybe we'll get lucky. In the meantime, I'll have the area canvassed. Someone might have seen something. And I'll need a full background on Victoria Masterson. This wasn't a random crime. The killer was making a point."
Castle points down at the body. "And appears to have succeeded."
"Do you know who her next of kin are?" Kate queries Castle. "I'll need to make the notification."
Castle shakes his head. "Sorry, I didn't know her that well. Mostly we talked about the Center – and pumpkin carving. But the information should be in her personnel file. They check the staff out pretty well here. Some of the art they handle is valuable, and they do have to deal with the public."
As she faces Kate and Castle, Personnel Director Jane Hartwell flicks a tear from her cheek. "I can't believe it, I just can't believe it. Vicky's one of the nicest people I've ever known. Why would anyone want to kill her? Yes, of course, I can give you her personal information. But our files are all digitized now. I can print you out a copy or email it or text it to you."
Kate hands Jane a business card. "Email will be fine. Just do it as soon as you can."
"Right away," Jane agrees.
"What are you doing?" Kate asks Castle, as she uses her desk computer to download the file Hartwell sent.
Castle looks up from scrolling through an article on his phone. "I'm reading about Victoria Masterson. The Center published a series of profiles of various staff members. Victoria's came out about six months ago. I had no idea she had this kind of history. She was an artist, a sculptor – very talented too. She won a scholarship to study at Pratt Institute. After that, she taught various art classes, and some of the smaller but still prestigious galleries started showing her work. Then she hit the big time, a grant from the Stellus Foundation for a series of sculptures highlighting social issues like poverty and discrimination. According to this, she'd almost finished the work when she had to stop because of medical issues."
"What kind of medical issues?" Kate asks.
"It doesn't say. But after that, she concentrated on teaching, and particularly on encouraging disadvantaged artists. That led to her job at the center. So have you got her next of kin?"
"Her emergency contact is a James Masterson. He lives in Washington Heights. Looks like the address isn't far from The Cloisters."
"Well, if you're going to live in Washington Heights, that would be the neighborhood to choose," Castle muses. "Do you want to go now?"
Kate pushes out of her chair. "No point in putting it off."
The approaching footsteps from inside James Masterson's apartment sound slow and shuffling. The man who finally appears at the entrance has sharp eyes in a weary face. He regards Kate's badge. What can I do for you, Detective?"
"Are you James Masterson?" Kate asks.
"I am. What's this about?"
"Mr. Masterson, it might be better if we could come in," Kate suggests softly.
"If you must," he concedes, moving slowly back from the door. "I don't get around as well as I used to." He waves them to seats at a small dining table then gingerly lowers himself into a chair. "Detective, Mr. Castle, why are you here?"
"Mr. Masterson, I'm sorry to tell you this, but Victoria Masterson is dead. The Artisan and Craft Center has you listed as her contact."
"What? Oh! Vicky's my sister. But there must be some mistake," James protests, "I just talked to her yesterday. She was happy, excited for the pumpkin carving contest today."
"There's no mistake," Kate says. "Your sister was murdered last night. I'm very sorry for your loss."
"As am I. I knew her. I saw her body," Castle adds. "The victim was your sister."
Do you know of anyone who would want to hurt her?" Kate asks.
"Hurt her? As if she didn't suffer enough already!"
"I'm sorry," Kate says. "I don't understand."
"Look at me," James commands. "I used to be a tennis player – a well-ranked one. And I used to sculpt too, although I wasn't nearly as good as Vicky. But then the damn disease hit. It's a degenerative muscle disorder, so rare you can barely google it. It comes on slowly, but in the first stage, your fine motor control goes to hell. For a while, I thought it was only going to be me, that Vicky was going to be spared. But then when she was working on her last sculpture, the symptoms developed. It moved more slowly for her than it has for me, but she was getting worse."
"So the disease is why she stopped sculpting?" Castle asks.
"That's right," James confirms. "But she really enjoyed teaching. And she loved her work at the center, especially when it involved young people. She showed me pictures of the pumpkins they carved last year. I can't think of anyone who had a problem with her."
"I understand, Mr. Masterson. Again, I'm very sorry for your loss. Is there anyone we can call for you?" Kate asks.
James leans heavily on the table. "It was just Vicky and me. Our parents died years ago and neither of us married. We didn't want to take a chance of passing on our curse."
Kate passes her card across the table. "Well, if you think of anything or just need to talk – call me, day or night."
"Thank you, Detective. You are very kind."
"Hell of a thing," Castle says as he and Kate head for the elevator. "You would think that family had more than enough trouble. For an illness like that to afflict a sculptor is tragic. And carving her up the way the killer did is just sick. We need to get the monster who did it."
"We will, Castle. We will."