Confession Chapter 4

Castle surveys the stacks of boxes and bins filling almost every square inch of the undistinguished space inside Jim Beckett's storage unit. "What is all of this?"

"The contents of Johanna's official office and most of her workspace at home," Jim explains. "As I think you know, Katie took some of what was in Johanna's desk – pictures, her planner, some of her files."

"Yes, we went over those together. But most of the notes were in a private shorthand. Kate couldn't read it. Can you?"

"No. Johanna didn't want anyone to be able to translate it if her files were subpoenaed or requested as discovery. Spousal privilege would have protected me from having to testify against her, but not her clients. Still, a lot of her office stuff isn't written that way because her paralegals would have had to deal with it and as work product it was inadmissible. So much of what's here is straightforward text, or as straightforward as legalese can get. Johanna always wanted her clients to understand what she was saying and doing for them."

"So I should be able to read through it," Castle assumes.

"You might need a good legal dictionary."

A corner of Castle's mouth tugs upward. "I have an app for that."

Jim frowns at the stacks. "But the sheer volume here could take you weeks, maybe months."

"I read fast," Castle says. "When you spend as much time as I have in libraries, you hone your research skills. If you'll allow it, I can get this stuff hauled someplace where I can tackle it."

"You can't tell Katie," Jim warns, "at least not until she's got her strength back. She'll dive in so hard she'll hurt herself."

"It probably will take me a while to come up with anything, anyway," Castle says. "But it would help if I knew what I was looking for. Kate thought for a while that your wife was killed because of her efforts to clean up drug dealing in Washington Heights. But none of the victims killed by the same hitman had anything to do with that. So she figured it had more to do with police corruption at the time."

"Johanna was pushing back against that, hard," Jim agrees.

"But after that, Kate hit a dead end," Castle continues. "She couldn't find evidence of a connection to anyone with the kind of juice to order all those hits – or pay for them."

"Johanna used to complain to me a lot about the DA's office," Jim recalls. "She said there was no rhyme or reason to who got kicked loose and who got the book thrown at them."

"According to my late friend Stephen Cannell, there are three reasons for murder – love, money, or to cover up another crime. I think in this case, we can eliminate love. But I'm guessing both the other two are involved."

"Good guess," Jim agrees.

Roy Montgomery works the combination on his safe for the third time, after his shaky fingers fumbled the first two. Before pulling anything out, he glances back at the door of his den, reassuring himself that he remembered to lock it. Certain that he'll be unobserved, he starts pulling out files, clippings, and a small stack of mini cassette tapes. The dragon knew Roy made one. He had one of his people observe his handoff to Johanna Beckett. She was killed not long after, but the tape never turned up. If it had, Roy probably would have ended up behind bars. Even if he'd worked out a deal to turn state's evidence, the life he'd planned for himself and Evelyn would have been over. So to cover his own crimes, Roy allowed the perpetrator of more monstrous ones to go free. He's still free and more monstrous than ever. He knows Roy could still take him down, but he doesn't know the extent of the evidence or where it is.

Roy made copies of the tapes, secreted in various locations. Should anything ever happen to him or his family, a friend will see that they get to the Attorney General. But that protection never covered Kate Beckett. Only Roy's assurances that he had her under control kept her from an assassin's bullet. But that went to hell. Hopefully, she can't push her investigation any further. But he can't count on that. And she's got Castle to help her dig.

Esposito waves as Castle exits the elevator at the 12th Precinct. "Yo! How's Beckett?"

"Already complaining she's bored. How're things going around here?"

Ryan glances toward Montgomery's office before opening his mouth. "I don't know what he heard from 1PP, but the captain's coming down hard. He wants us to close as many cases as we did when Beckett was here. Until then, no breaks that aren't mandated by regulations, no personal days, and no vacation days. And if we call in sick, he wants to see the sign-off from Health Services."

"I thought you were supposed to have them sign off anyway," Castle says. "Beckett always claimed that's why she wouldn't call in sick unless she was at death's door. She didn't want the hassle."

"Technically it's always been the rule," Ryan explains. "But the captain never enforced it."

"Unless he thought someone was goldbricking," Esposito adds. "But that hasn't happened since…."

"Detective Burns," Ryan fills in.

"Right, Burns," Esposito confirms.

"I don't remember him," Castle says.

"Before your time. He would call in sick right in the first 48 hours of a case," Esposito recalls, "leaving everyone else busting their asses to pick up the slack before the trail went cold. After we had two suspects skip out on us, Montgomery had enough."

"So what happened to Burns?" Castle asks.

Ryan grins. "Turned out the reason he was calling in sick was he was having an affair with the wife of a lieutenant from IA. Got bounced from the department just when he needed his healthcare. Apparently, the lady was less than exclusive in her liaisons."

Castle winces. "Eww. Well, I think all Beckett's going to have to worry about from Health Services is getting permission to come back. She took a hell of a hit. Another quarter of an inch to the left and someone would be handing her dad a flag. Still, when you guys are off duty, I'm sure she'd like to see you, especially if you can share some tidbits of cases you're working on."

"We'll try to get over there, Castle," Esposito promises. "What are you doing since you're not following Beckett around? Going back on tour?"

"Not without Beckett. But I have another project, some stuff I'm researching on a cold case."

"Yeah, well good luck with that," Ryan says. "Those cases are called cold for a reason. Digging up any new evidence is like chipping through ice."

"Maybe," Castle allows, "but I've got a pretty good chisel."

Its backup beeper going full steam, Castle waves a nondescript truck to the door of Jim Beckett's storage unit. He'd managed to borrow it, and a couple of brawny helpers, from an old and discreet friend who owed him a favor. With the help of sturdy dollies, they should make quick work of transporting Johanna Beckett's legacy to a little office Castle rented not far from his SOHO loft. The space is in an old commercial building yet to finish its gentrification. But like many structures of its type, the walls are thick and the doors solid. Castle can do his reading in isolation. Should he shout the hoped-for "Eureka," it's unlikely that anyone will hear him.