Finding the Fit Chapter 34
"No one can spend the kind of money it takes to buy an estate like that without leaving a trail," Rick muses, "even if it is hidden behind a bunch of shell companies. Land means records, not just of the purchase but of upkeep. Petrovich has to have people working for him, and he wouldn't want innocent citizens who might communicate anything hinky they see. Even the guys who mow the grass and drive the bus should be connected to his criminal enterprises."
Fingering her lips, Kate slowly nods. "I agree, Castle. And Petrovich probably uses a cleaning service, too. Constantly being in and out of rooms, straightening papers, the workers would be exposed to all kinds of information he wouldn't want public. We got enough from Abdulov to justify pulling all of Petrovich's financials. We can start with finding out who he uses to tidy up and go from there."
From his chair beside Kate's desk, Rick rapidly skims through a stack of printouts. "Beckett, here it is! Guaranteed Spotless Cleaning Service. It bills him monthly for daily maintenance. They'd have to be in and out all the time."
"I'll check them out," Kate says. "Hmm. Not listed with the Better Business Bureau."
Rick chortles. "There's a surprise." He swipes his finger down the screen of his cell phone. "Not on Yelp either, that I can see. I'm guessing they're exclusive to Petrovich – very exclusive. One short listing on Google with an address. Want to bet it's a drop box? There's also a phone number, though. Someone has to be paying for that." He starts entering numbers on his keypad.
"Castle, what are you doing?" Kate demands.
"Seeing who or what is at the other end of the line." Expecting a robotic voicemail message, Rick is surprised to hear a human voice answer his call. "This is Guaranteed Spotless Cleaning Service. May I have your customer number, please?"
"Uh, I don't have one. I'm inquiring about new service," Rick improvises.
"We're not taking on new customers." the voice replies. Rick's phone beeps the termination of the call.
Kate stares at him questioningly. "What happened?"
"I'm not sure, but," his mind flashes back to Agent Turner's lessons, "I think I was asked for a code. Beckett, I believe the cleaning service is actually a secure messaging service. Maybe cleaning his mansion is a cover for relaying information to and from the top. If it's there every day, cleaning would make a perfect cover."
Kate scowls her skepticism. "A cleaning service is a secure communications conduit? Really Castle?"
"Why not? Cleaning services are ubiquitous. They get access almost everywhere, usually in the evening hours, so they largely go unnoticed. You can't tell me that the NYPD doesn't have to vet the people dumping the wastebaskets."
"I don't know," Kate admits. "That's a personnel area, not really in my wheelhouse. But I guess they'd have to."
"Right. And a lot of cleaning services are bonded to prevent their use in industrial espionage. I had to check that out for Hell Hath No Fury."
"Right, one of the angry Wiccans who was trying to get access to the industrialist who was attempting to destroy the woods where they performed their sacred ceremonies tried to sign up to clean his offices. When she failed, the coven had to employ more, um, direct measures."
Rick's eyebrows ripple. "Very good, Beckett! Only hardcore Castle fans read that one."
"My mom had a copy," Kate confides, "so I picked it up. Assuming for a moment that you're right that Guaranteed Spotless is a pipeline between Petrovich and Bracken's higher-ups, then we'd want to keep an eye on their people, at least whoever is spending the day at Petrovich's place."
"Shouldn't be too tough," Castle imagines. "For Guaranteed Spotless to keep up the charade, it would need appropriate vehicles making daily trips back and forth down a particular side road. If I recall, there was a controlled intersection at the turn-off. Traffic cams?"
Kate lifts the receiver of her landline. "It shouldn't take long to find out."
Kate gazes at Tech's big screen displaying an intermittent flow of vehicles. Wong, can you speed it up a little?" she asks the chief tech.
Wong touches a control on his console. "No problem."
Kate's nose wrinkles at the temperature of her rapidly cooling coffee. "I still don't see any vehicles that look like they belong to the cleaning service."
"Keep looking," Castle urges. "Ooh, what's on the side of that green minivan?"
Wong halts the feed and backs it up a few seconds. Castle points to a logo of a mop and broom on the side of the van. "GSCS, Guaranteed Spotless Cleaning Service. That's got to be it!"
"Do we have another angle at the same timestamp?" Kate asks. "We need the plate."
Wong starts typing. "Coming up now."
"Two-three-four-G-S-C," Rick reads out loud.
"Right," Kate acknowledges. "Let's see if the DMV has any more than Google does. It asks for real addresses."
Kate points at the screen of her computer. "That green minivan is registered to a Molava Wittington, 20 East 60th."
"That would put her on the Upper East Side. Pricey neighborhood for a house cleaner," Rick notes.
"And right near the bridge into Queens," Kate says. "Handy for the drive to hook up with Petrovich."
"Considering paying Ms. Wittington a visit when she returns from a hard day's labor?" Rick asks.
"More than considering it," Kate responds.
"It's a little early for the end of a day of sweeping and dusting," Rick observes. "I do know of a lovely restaurant up there, often frequented by museum patrons. Silver Circle members go to the head of the line for a table."
"Let me guess, Castle, you're a Silver Circle member."
"The museum staff was very helpful in assisting me in research for 'Storming the Gates.' That was my book about the collector who…."
"Used art shipments used to smuggle state secrets. I remember," Kate says.
"I figured that the least I could do is support the institution," Rick continues. "And getting a table faster is one of the perks that I don't mind."
Kate rolls her eyes. "I'm sure you don't. So are you suggesting that we eat at that restaurant before we question Molava Whittington?"
"Might as well proceed with the investigation properly fueled."
"All right, Castle. But I don't want to linger over the pasta, or whatever their specialty is."
"Wagyu beef, actually. You'll love it!"
Molava Wittington pulls her van into the underground garage of her building. It looks out of place in the row of luxury cars, but she doesn't care. With what she rakes in using it, she could buy any car she wants, but she prefers to put her money into something more dependable – diamonds. She can easily transport them and convert them into cash anywhere she chooses to go, and she has a long list. Once she's finished serving the needs of the organization in which Petrovich is merely a cog, she can find the perfect island to settle down. She can enjoy the sand and the sea and never have to drive a van again. Molava figures that she only has a few more years to wait. The boss of it all will have reached the height of his power and no longer need the kind of information she brings in. She can retire after a job well done, a job very well done. It won't take her too long to code and transmit the day's information. Then she can relax.