Confession Chapter 29

Castle forgets about his coffee as he reads the short summary of Gates' personal information. One sister, Elizabeth Weston. The name isn't that uncommon. Could there be two? He locates an image of Weston and studies it side by side with the small photo of Gates. The skin tones look a little different, but photographs rarely capture those accurately, particularly for people of color. The look in their eyes, however, is unmistakable. Their drive almost jumps off the screen. Castle witnessed that firsthand in his brief interaction with Elizabeth Weston. Though he's yet to meet the rapidly becoming infamous Gates, the look matches what Beckett and the boys described.

So, two sisters set out to change the world. They'd make excellent characters in a book. Maybe someday they will, but right now Castle has much more pressing concerns. He needs to weave together a convincing enough set of facts to motivate Mary Waters to bring it to her boss. Given what Mother said, Michaelson Rafferty should be a juicy place to start.

Castle finds no shortage of hits on Rafferty, if anything, too many. Still, he decides, to read through them all, sifting through the muck for the tiny nuggets of gold that will lead him to the mansion in the woods. He reaches for his rapidly cooling coffee. He's going to need more.

An urgent demand from his bladder reminds Castle that, except for refilling his mug, he's been tethered to his keyboard for hours. After grudgingly taking the time to take care of business, he gets an alert from his stomach that it's been way too long since breakfast. He'd been hoping that he would hear from Beckett when she had a chance to take the allowable lunch break, but so far her ringtone's been silent.

After quickly striding across the loft to the kitchen, Castle pulls open the refrigerator. Any leftovers from the night before disappeared either into his morning scramble or into Alexis' backpack. He'll have to start from scratch. If he's going to cook, it's too bad he can't do it for two and take it to the 12th to share with Beckett, but right now that seems out of the question. He doesn't have anything solid enough about the Simmons' funhouse to offer anyway. Sighing, he checks the freezer, immediately hearing the siren call of a lone ribeye. If he can't get any sizzle from his research yet, he can at least get some from his stove's built-in griddle.

Castle's just transferring his steak to a warm plate when the buzzer of the intercom to the lobby sounds. Quickly covering the distance to the panel near the door, he presses the button. "Somebody down there for me, Eduardo?"

"Special delivery letter, Mr. Castle. They won't let me sign for it. They say that it has to be put in the hands of the addressee only."

Wondering if it might be a bomb or a letter powdered with anthrax spores, Castle briefly considers calling Kap. But he can have a look at it first. If it is anything threatening, there's no reason to endanger Eduardo any longer than necessary. After a regretful look back at his steak, he takes the stairs to the ground floor.

Global Messaging is stitched on the uniform pocket of a man holding a clipboard and an envelope who informs Castle that he'll need to see a picture ID. The writer pulls his wallet from his pocket and displays his driver's license. After examining it, the messenger hands it back with the clipboard and a pen. "Sign here."

"Let me see that envelope first," Castle demands. "I might want to refuse it."

The messenger shrugs and holds it up for Castle to study. Castle notes that it's sized to accommodate A4 paper rather than the standard American 8-and-a-half by eleven inches. There's no back address except for the hand-printed initials, "R.M." Silencing the name that echoes through his brain before it can reach his lips, he says merely, "I'll accept it." He quickly affixes his signature to the document on the clipboard, tips the messenger, and takes the stairs two at a time to the loft.

After closing the loft's door firmly behind him, Castle opens the envelope. Inside he finds only a touristy photo of an underwater post office with a short message written on the back. "All here and all fine. Get the bastard! R.M." Castle studies the picture. If his memory for obscure factoids is correct, there's only one underwater post office in the world. Rapidly making his way to his computer, he checks. He was right. There is only one, in Vanuatu, a country made up of a group of islands and famous for two things – banking and the absence of an extradition treaty with the United States.

Castle grins. So that's where the current took the bodies, and apparently very much alive. He has to let Beckett know. At the very least, he can send a text asking her to get in touch with him ASAP. She can answer when she can. And he can reheat his steak.

At the table in Castle's loft, Kate studies the photo before turning it over to run her fingertips over the brief words. "They made it. That's great! But Castle, we can't tell anyone – ever."

"I know," Castle agrees. "But still, it's good to know. Whatever Roy did – or didn't do – he did his best to make amends without sacrificing his family. There was no need for Evelyn and the kids to pay for sins they knew nothing about. And they will all have to make a new life in a very different place. That's a hard thing to do, especially for teenagers."

Kate squeezes his hand. "I guess you know a lot about trying to fit yourself into new places."

Castle sighs. "Yeah. But," he adds, his face brightening, "we have cause to celebrate. Actually, we have a double cause. During the hours I anxiously awaited laying the happy news on you, I had time to dig more into Michaelson Rafferty and the mystery mansion. Ooh, this conversation is taking on a decidedly Scooby Doo air."

"OK. So what's our next step to ripping the mask off our villain?" Kate demands.

"Ah. I found minor stories from a stringer for the Global Tattler who followed Rafferty into Westchester's woods on three occasions. The first time, he was stopped by a guard claiming the road was private. He had to turn around. The second time, he parked down the road and tried to hike in. But he got stopped by guards and an electrified fence before he could get close enough to see anything. Then he got smart and studied what he figured out was the location of the mansion, on Google Earth. He found some old hunting shacks in the opposite direction from the road Rafferty had taken in. He set himself up in one of those with a telescope and watched. He didn't see Rafferty again. But he saw busloads of women being delivered through the gate in the morning and picked up again the next morning."

"That could be sex trafficking!" Kate exclaims. "So was there another story?"

"Not that I could find. After the last story, the Global Tattler was absorbed by Exeter-Price Publications. But Beckett, guess who's a major stockholder in Exeter-Price Publications?"

"Michaelson Rafferty."

Castle's eyebrows ripple. "Got it in one."