Confession Chapter 62

Giles Macklin twitches. He's been in a coveted seat in the courtroom for much of the day and hasn't heard anything he can slant to Bracken's advantage. His story won't even be that exciting. Right now it's all foundation. The witness is a forensic accountant describing the flows of monies through Bracken's various accounts. The prosecution has yet to introduce the witnesses that prove the funds came from illegal sources. He can plant the idea that chasing after every penny is a waste of taxpayer funds, but ZNN rarely puts out stories like that. It tends to be left to the outlets dedicated to screaming about the wasteful ways of big government. He'll keep his report short, which won't do much for his on-air profile. But he won't be interfering with the defense's spin either.

"Dad, that's awful!" Alexis exclaims when Castle explains the cancelation of the pumpkin-carving contest. "Ms. Masterson was so nice!"

"I know," Castle commiserates. "But she would have wanted pumpkin carvers to carry on. What do you say to a drive to Pumpkin Point to pick out a collection of orange beauties? We can still spend the evening crafting masterpieces."

"Aren't you going to be working with Beckett on the murder?"

"She'll be off shift in an hour and the lab reports won't be in until tomorrow morning at the earliest."

"Then she can carve with us," Alexis suggests.

Castle settles onto a stool at the counter. "I've always thought of our pumpkin carving as a father-daughter activity."

Alexis hops up to a seat next to her father. "It is, Dad, but you're less weird when Beckett's around."

Castle's shoulders stiffen. "Weird? When was my pumpkin carving weird?"

"Ten different versions of 'The Scream.' You have to admit that was a little over the top."

"Maybe it was. Tell you what. We can go pick out our pumpkins while Beckett is finishing up at the precinct. Then we'll pick her up for dinner and a carvathon – assuming she's interested."

Alexis slides off her stool. "Sounds good."

Kate stares at the screen of her cell phone. "Seriously, Castle? With the case we're working on, you want me to carve pumpkins?"

"It was Alexis' idea to invite you in to our yearly pursuit. And Kate, Victoria Masterson wouldn't have wanted the crazy who killed her to kill all the fun for the kids– including Alexis – who looked forward to the contest. Normally, Alexis and I wouldn't have been creating our masterpieces to go unseen. And she obviously wants you around."

"Do you want me around, Castle? You can get pretty defensive about intrusions into your father-daughter bonding activities."

"Defensive? Me?"

"Zombie Movie Night?"

"Touché. But you weren't fully into the spirit of the occasion."

"Maybe not. Your detachable hand was creepy. But carving pumpkins could give us a feel for whatever message Victoria Masterson's killer was trying to deliver and steer us toward a suspect."

"You may have a point," Castle allows. "So, ready to sink a knife into soft orange flesh?"

"Do I get to sink my teeth into a burger first?"

"As you wish."

"Get anything out of the canvass?" Castle asks as Kate climbs into the passenger seat beside him.

"Nothing. But the people who were around today wouldn't have been the same as the ones around during the kill zone. The night shift will be trying again."

"Remy's OK?" Castle asks. "They've just started serving pumpkin spice milkshakes."

"I'll stick to strawberry," Kate decides. "But Remy's is great."

Castle leans across the Formica-topped table in one of Remy's booths and touches his finger to the corner of his mouth. "You've got a little ketchup."

Kate dabs with a paper napkin. "Did I get it?"

"Not quite. I'll get it." Castle would have preferred to accomplish his mission with a kiss, but not with his daughter chomping fries at his side. He uses another paper napkin to wipe away the smear. "All spanky clean, until we start carving that is."

"I can appreciate the mess," Kate says. "It means you have to put some effort into creating something."

Alexis nods. "That's a cool way of looking at it."

When her cell phone goes off at 9:30, Kate wipes her hands on the long apron Castle provided and takes the call. "Detective Beckett, this is Officer Muldoon. I don't mean to bother you but our instructions said to let you know if the canvass around the Artisan and Craft Center turned up anything about the murder. I have a witness, a homeless guy who hangs around behind the place. He says sometimes they throw away leftovers from meetings and festivals and stuff. He claims he saw a guy running out of the delivery entrance last night."

"Can you bring him to the precinct, Muldoon? Tell him he can have dinner there, my treat."

"Yes, Ma'am. I can certainly do that," Muldoon responds.

"Good, I'll meet you there."

Castle lays down the mini electric saw he was using as a carving tool. "A witness?"

"Officer Muldoon thinks so. You want to join me or do you need to finish your carving?"

"Definitely join you. A few more strokes and I'll have this knocked."

"Good. We can stop back at Remy's on the way."

Oliver Trask closes his eyes, savoring his double burger. "I really appreciate this, Detective Beckett, but I would have told you what I saw anyway. I heard about Ms. Masterson. Shame. I talked to her a few times. Terrific lady."

"Yes, she was," Castle agrees. "What did you talk to her about?"

"Lost craftmanship mostly. I used to do plasterwork, the kind you see on the ceilings in the old brownstones. I could make angels, cherubs, flowers – whatever the customer wanted. But then I got hit by a damn cab. Pretty much destroyed my back. I was in a crosswalk and everything. The driver didn't care. The insurance company settled, but it wasn't even enough to pay my medical bills. So – well you can figure it out. Ms. Masterson told me she had problems that limited her art too, but she was trying to figure out how I could get my foot back in the door somehow. You're going to catch the bastard who killed her, aren't you?"

"That's the idea, Mr. Trask," Kate says. "How good a look did you get at the man you saw?"

"It was dark, so I couldn't make out the details of his features. But there was enough backlight so I could see a silhouette."

"Can you describe it to a police artist?" Kate inquires.

Trask straightens in his seat. "I don't have to describe it. I can draw it for you myself. And I can give you his height and weight, too. But I don't suppose you can get me another cup of this coffee. It's incredible."

Kate smiles. "That's Mr. Castle's artistry."

"And," Castle adds, "I would be more than happy to make as much for you as you like."

Kate studies the silhouette Trask drew, along with what description he could provide. "Five-nine. That would make the suspect dead on average for an American male. But the weight's high. And he looks heavy in what Trask drew, too."

"An average height, overweight male. That would apply to a hell of a lot of guys," Castle notes. "But not that many of them would have been around the delivery entrance to the Center. Did CSU print there?"

"All the exits and entrances." Kate reaches for her phone. "They should have some results from that area by now."