Confession Chapter 31

"I don't specialize in criminal law," Jim Beckett says in answer to Castle's call. "And if I were to represent this reporter, it could end up in a conflict of interest. But I can recommend someone. There's a woman who worked for me as a paralegal while she was saving up for law school. She passed the bar with flying colors and has an excellent record in court. This is just the kind of case she'll love – especially if you pay her what she's worth."

"Oh, I'll pay her," Castle promises. "Can you make the introductions?"

"ASAP," Jim agrees.

"Excellent."

As Kate gets off the elevator at YY&F, 40 pairs of eyes – all male – stare at her from behind utilitarian desks. She takes a narrow aisle to a glassed-in office. The nameplate outside the door reads Roger Tooman, Sales Director. Mr. Tooman, apparently in the middle of a heated phone conversation, ignores Kate's tap on his transparent door. After a moment, Kate raps loudly enough to gain his attention. Eyes quickly sweeping up and down her shapely frame, he motions her inside.

When Kate holds up her badge, Tooman quickly ends the call. "Detective…?

"Beckett," Kate fills in, feeling no urge to offer her first name.

"Detective Beckett, there have been cops questioning my people ever since the incident downstairs. Our sales are already down 30% from the lost time. I don't know what else we can do for you."

"In the 'incident,' as you call it, a man lost more than sales. He lost his life," Kate retorts. "But I will make this quick. You have a stairwell leading down to the garage, don't you?"

"Yes," Tooman confirms. "We already informed the other cops of that. A lot of our people use it."

Kate nods. "Yes, a lot easier than leaving the building and walking back into the garage. But I imagine you don't want anyone just wandering up from the garage either. Do you have some way of controlling access?"

"We have cards our employees swipe to get in. We also use them to track if they arrive at the time they put on their timecards," Tooman explains.

"There must be a lot of cards. What if an ex-employee tries to keep one? How do you control them?" Kate asks.

"Same way a hotel controls room keys. They track when they're used. When someone checks out, the key gets deactivated. We do the same thing when someone leaves our employ. Even if they keep the card, it won't work."

"So, if someone used a card to get in here after the murder, you'd have a record of it?" Kate presses.

"Of course."

"Then I'll need to have a look at your records for that morning," Kate announces.

"You'll need to talk to Levy," Tooman tells her, pointing through a glass wall toward an unmarked door. "He's in the computer room, back there."

"I'll do that," Kate responds.

Everything about Solomon Levy is curly – his hair, his beard, and his side curls, known as payos. His skullcap is attached by brave bobby pins and fringes peek out from under his shirt. Familiar with the religious rules Levy would have to follow forbidding physical contact with women, Kate keeps her distance, not easy in the small room. "Mr. Levy, I'm Detective Kate Beckett. Mr. Tooman suggested that you could help me find out if anyone came in here from the stairs around the time the man was killed down in the garage."

"I'm surprised it took so long for someone to ask," Levy responds. "It would seem like an obvious question. What is your critical time period?"

"Can you check from three-thirty am to five am?"

"No problem." His slim fingers dance over the keys. "Phone solicitations can't legally start until eight am, so our callers usually arrive around seven-forty-five. Anything earlier than that would be an outlier. And here one is, Detective Beckett. Cole Maddox used his card at four-fifteen that morning. But he hasn't used it since. He may not be… let me look… right! He doesn't work here anymore. He was terminated that day."

"Why?" Kate asks.

"You'd have to ask Mr. Tooman about that. But probably Maddox couldn't make his sales quota. The turnover here is very high. Tooman axes callers who can't make their numbers all the time."

"How long have you been here, Mr. Levy?" Kate inquires.

"Five years, since the place opened. I was hired even before Tooman was. But I don't have to sell anything. Good thing. My parents had a dry goods store, Knew everyone, supplied the whole neighborhood. I started working there when I was a teenager. But I was terrible behind the counter. Just not a people person. So they had to put me in the back room working on the books, the purchase orders, that kind of thing. Then I majored in computer science at CUNY and I came to work here."

Kate started edging toward the door in the middle of his story. "Sounds like it all worked out. Thank you for your help, Mr. Levy."

"No problem, Detective Beckett. Murderers should be found and punished."

"Yes, Mr. Levy, they should." Kate closes Levy's door behind her and heads back toward Tooman's office.

At a coffee shop near the courthouse, Castle drops into a chair across a back table from Sarah Brockman attorney-at-law. She smiles. "Thank you for meeting me here, Mr. Castle. Most days I don't make it back to my office between cases."

"Thank you for coming, Ms. Brockman," Castle replies. "It sounds like you're very busy."

"I take a lot of court-appointed cases," Brockman acknowledges. "But I can't say no to Jim Beckett. I wouldn't be a lawyer without him. He let me work around my law school classes. He even helped me study for the bar. And he said you need my help. So what can I do for you, Mr. Castle?"

"It's not precisely for me, but I'll be picking up the tab. I've been helping Kate Beckett with an investigation and I found someone with useful information, but I believe he's being shafted by the powers that be."

Brockman chuckles. "Lot of that going around. Give me the details and I'll see what I can do."

"Cole Maddox's in the wind," Esposito reports. "No one's seen or heard from him since YY&F kicked him loose."

"But," Ryan interrupts, "we found a keycard discarded in the trash outside YY&F. The code matches the one issued to Maddox. The lab was able to pull prints, a thumb, and an index finger, but they don't belong to Cole Maddox. They belong to a Cedric Marks."

"Let me guess," Kate says, "ex-military."

Ryan hands Kate a thin file. "We could only get a redacted version of his record, but he was in the army in Afghanistan. He was given a general discharge. The reason why is part of what's redacted. After that, he disappeared. No driver's license. No employment records. Nothing."

"He must have surfaced as Cole Maddox," Kate figures. "He could be one of Jimmy Carmack's recruits."

"But why would Carmack send one of his guys to kill Reince Prince?" Esposito wonders.

Kate presses her fingertips to her bottom lip. "Because Reince Prince knew too much about Bracken's connection to Simmons. Carmack sent Maddox to wipe out the trail. And Maddox is probably long gone by now – unless he has more work to do here for Carmack. We might be seeing another body."