Finding the Fit Chapter 19
"Castle, we need to go back to Leeds' office and search for clues to someone other than Jacey Goldberg, who might have wanted him dead," Kate says.
"Not just wanted him dead, but was willing to torture him," Rick reminds her. "He must have known something more earth-shattering than who had breast implants. Maybe it had to do with who runs operations around 133rd Street."
"We won't know until we find a lead." Kate reaches for the blazer on the back of her chair. "Let's go."
"I can't let you access the patient files," Nurse Hammond insists. "We're making arrangements to pass them on to one of Dr. Leeds' colleagues who will be providing follow-up care."
"We don't need to see patient files," Kate responds, "at least not yet. But we do need to look through Dr. Leeds' personal items."
"And billing records," Rick adds. "Procedures on those are just coded, aren't they?"
"They are," Julia confirms, "but how would you know that?"
"The codes have to be right for reimbursement for non-elective procedures. I have some, um, friends who had battles to get their treatments approved when the codes were messed up. I got into the fray a bit," Rick explains.
"You must have a high tolerance for frustration, Mr. Castle," Julia says as Kate quirks an eyebrow. "And you're right about the entries being coded. I'll make sure that Mario gives you access to anything that doesn't contain explicit patient information."
"You're full of surprises, Castle," Kate says. "I'll take Leeds' desk while you check the billing records." Kate pulls out the top drawer to find the expected assortment of pens and a checklist of wedding preparations. The large drawer below it, however, resists her attempts to open it. "This is locked. Is there a key somewhere?" she asks Julia.
Nurse Hammond shakes her head. "Dr. Leeds always carried it with him."
Kate reaches into her pocket for a small evidence bag containing a key case. "This was in his effects." Kate picks out a small key and inserts it into the lock. It turns easily, and the drawer pops open. She starts pulling out items. Leeds locked up his checkbook. She supposes that was a reasonable precaution in an office where patients would come and go. He also had personal files, all neatly marked and mostly relating to plans for his honeymoon. She almost misses the unlabeled file folder underneath. It's a record for a surgery done on an unnamed patient at Saint James Hospital. She recalls the parking sticker that Castle and Esposito had both pointed out was for Mercy General. "Nurse Hammond," Kate queries, "did Dr. Leeds ever perform procedures at Saint James?"
"Absolutely not," Julia declares. "He believed that the infection control procedures at Mercy General are the best in the city. He always operated there. If he'd worked on a patient at St. James, I would have known. I was his operating room nurse."
Kate strides over to Castle at the computer. "Anything?"
"Most of these seem like regular patient billings, the same batch of codes over and over again. But there's one here that looks weird. There's no code for the procedure and the billing code appears federal."
"How do you know that?" Kate asks.
Rick struggles for an answer that isn't entirely untrue. "Research for my spy novels. I happened upon some of Uncle Sam's interesting payables. I don't recognize this exact code, but I think the prefix has something to do with the DOJ."
"What would the justice department want with a plastic surgeon?" Kate wonders.
"Are you kidding, Beckett? What better way to hide a witness than to change his appearance? And it fits with the unmolested condition of Leeds' Mercedes – and the torture. If the mob wanted the identity or location of someone Leeds gave a new face, what better place to extract information than in controlled territory? They probably even knew how many tickets it would take before the car was towed and the body discovered."
"That's quite a conjecture, Castle, but I can't think of anything else that makes sense. Last I heard, WITSEC cases for the Southern District are handled by Candace Robinson."
"Isn't she the one The Ledger calls "Hard Candy" for her relentless refusal to release any information on mob prosecutions?" Castle inquires.
Kate nods, sighing. "That's her."
"I hope she's more forthcoming with a top detective from the NYPD," Castle says.
Kate sighs again. "I wouldn't count on it, but I'll go see her. And I'll need you to stay in the car. She's definitely not about to give up any information in front of a bestselling author."
"Tell you what. If I recall correctly, there's a pizzeria that sells New York style, the original kind with the oil that drips down your shirt unless you fold in the tip of your slice. It's evilly wonderful. While you see what you can suck out of 'Hard Candy,' I'll get us a couple of slices," Rick offers.
"Castle, do you ever think of anything besides food?"
Rick's brows dance above his eyes. "You really want to know?"
"Never mind. All right. You might as well get the pizza. It will keep you busy. I'll meet you back at the car."
Rick hands Kate a slice of pizza on grease-resistant paper along with a stack of paper napkins. "Any luck?"
"No. I told Robinson that we needed the information to take down a murderer, but she insisted that anything she disclosed could compromise putting away multiple murderers." Kate takes an angry bite of her snack.
"Her denial alone says that we're on the right track, Beckett," Rick points out.
"The red light is flashing, and the train is screeching to a halt. With Robinson putting up a wall like that, I don't know where to take our next step," Kate confides.
Rick uses a napkin to swipe at his lower lip. "I have an idea. I have a source that I used as background from Storm's early days. He's a capo with one of the mob families and actually pretty nice."
"A nice criminal?" Kate questions.
"Relatively speaking. I wouldn't want to get on his bad side. But I'm betting he's easier to deal with than 'Hard Candy.'"
"I wouldn't take that bet," Kate admits. "All right, Castle, give it a shot."
"I assume you don't mean that literally. Wow, I'll get to eat Italian, more or less, twice in one day. Lucky me."
Rick makes his way down the aisle of Cardano's to a back table where Sal Tenor has a makeshift office. Round and fiftyish, Sal is going through a stack of papers while enjoying a bowl of linguini with clam sauce. "Sal!" Rick raises a hand in greeting only to have his arm twisted behind his back and get shoved face down on the table. He knows how to get out of the hold. Sophia made sure he mastered little tricks like that. However, the three very obviously armed toughs he passed at the bar on his way in make it unlikely that he'd get very far. "Whoa! Hey! I'm a friend!"
"What do you want me to do with him, Sal?" the thug holding Rick inquires.
"We're old pals. This is all a terrible mistake," Rick protests.
Sal shrugs. "Take him into the alley and shoot him. And use a silencer. I don't want the patrons disturbed."
Rick's captor shoves him toward the back door.