Finding the Fit Chapter 55
Hunt checks the quarters of the murderous attaché, unsurprised to find them empty. He uses a pad to bring up the listings of outgoing flights in the New York City area. There is a private plane out of Teterboro scheduled for takeoff to Russia in three hours. That would give the hitter a little stress-relieving time before heading to New Jersey to board his flight. Hunt decides to check out the man's favorite source of amusement. With any luck, he can take him out before he retreats to the protection of his homeland. That will, at least partially, clear Hunt's plate to devote his efforts to protecting Richard. He can also leave the body in a spot where the cops can easily find it and check the prints. When they come up with a match to the latest mass-killing, Beckett will have solved that case. No reason Richard's muse shouldn't have another feather in her cap.
Perhaps because of the general lack of lethality, Rick finds information on sleeping gasses relatively easy to find. Many of the formulations were originally investigated as law-enforcement tools but found wanting for one reason or another – at least in the U.S. and some other Western countries. Still, one pharmaceutical firm in India continued developing less problematical analogs in hopes of wider marketing opportunities. As far as anyone knows, at least anyone who can publish the information, they didn't succeed in the West. Yet, they found eager customers for their products in Asia and Eastern Europe – Russia included. The gasses have been used in many raids of supposed dissidents, in hopes of capturing them alive. Once in custody, they could be tortured into disclosing whatever secrets their interrogators wished to extract. It would not be difficult at all for Russia or any of its allies to send the gas to the U.S. by way of a diplomatic pouch.
The matter of attributing some meaning to a bullet in the brainstem is more challenging. Mobsters have ritualistic killing styles, which include a bullet at the base of the skull and one or two to the heart. The point is to leave a signature that instills fear. That scenario, however, doesn't match the murders at the Harlem house. It doesn't match any other group's signatures Rick can find online either. The gas was obviously a tool to produce helpless victims that the murderer could kill with no resistance and at his leisure. The bullet at the base of the brain contributed to what? Neatness? Did the killer have an aversion to blood or just hate messes? The killing method seems more a preference than a ritual or demonstration of power. Rick can almost hear the smirking tones of Dana Carvey's Church Lady saying, "How convenient!" He hates the idea of laying something that unhelpful on Beckett, but that's really all the killer's style seems to be.
Groaning slightly as he tries to work the kinks out of his shoulders, Rick decides to return to the precinct. The walk will do him good and give him time to figure out the best way to tell Beckett what he found – or didn't find.
Hunt studies the entrance to and exit from The Meticulous Mistress. The main door from the sidewalk looks as much like the entry to a law office as to an asylum for domination seekers. He muses that perhaps the mistresses lay down the type of law the patrons relish. The back door allows them to exit where any marks received during their session will go unseen. It opens on an alley leading to a semi-hidden parking area. After receiving their discipline, the clients can slink off to their cars in privacy. Hunt notes that the car with the familiar diplomatic plates is parked, ready for it's user's departure. For what Hunt plans to do, the setup is perfect, just perfect.
"I have good news and bad news," Rick announces to Kate as he plops into his seat next to her desk.
"After the discussion I just had with the Russian Consulate, I could use some good news. Give me that first," Kate requests.
"After what you just told me, I'm not so sure it's good news, but the gas was most likely produced in India for use by the Russians. So our killer is probably Russian or working for the Russians."
Kate sighs. "He's working for the Russians, all right. The traffic cam picked up a car with diplomatic plates arriving and departing the general area of the Harlem House right during the kill zone. Unfortunately, the consulate rep claims that the car is part of a fleet that many diplomatic functionaries would have access to. And even if he could track down who was driving it, we have no right to the information. That gives me no way to identify the driver. And if I could, I couldn't arrest him. So what's your bad news?"
"The pattern of the shot to the brain stem and the forehead doesn't match the signature of any particular group or individual. It looks like the killer might just have been trying to avoid making a mess."
"A fastidious killer, great! But we have another mysterious figure who might or might not have anything to do with the murders. He was parked in the area and didn't leave until after Special Services arrived."
"People come and go from Harlem all the time. What's the big mystery?" Rick queries.
"The mystery is that when Ryan tried to run the plate, it came up restricted."
"An intelligence operative," Rick assumes.
"I don't know how you figured that out, Castle, but that's what I think too. The question is, what would an intelligence agent be doing there?"
"Watching a Russian," Rick raises his hands in air quotes, 'diplomat.'"
"But the 'diplomat' was long gone before this guy left, Castle. If he was watching the killer, why would he hang around?"
"You've got me, Kate," Castle admits.
Kate's landline jangles, and she almost automatically activates the speaker. "Beckett."
"Detective Beckett, this is dispatch. We just got a report of a dead body lying near a car in the Happy Mart parking lot. It's a car you had a BOLO out for, the one with diplomatic plates."
Kate springs from her chair. "I'm on my way. Come on, Castle, let's go."
"Have you got a cause of death, Lanie?" Kate inquires as she approaches the ME kneeling next to the body.
Lanie points at the man's head. "See for yourself."
Rick looks over Kate's shoulder. "Bullet right between the eyes. Was there another one in the brainstem?"
"No, just the one wound – so far, anyway. And there aren't any powder burns, so it wasn't at close range. Whoever took this guy out was a very good shot."
"And wasn't trying to hide the body," Kate notes. "Hundreds of customers could have seen it."
"The shooter must have wanted his victim found quickly," Rick guesses.
"Lanie, did you scan the prints?" Kate inquires.
The ME nods. "Just sent them off to CSU."
Kate pulls out her cell phone. "If this guy did what I think he did…. Yeah, Chief Carl, this is Detective Beckett. Could you check to see if the fingerprints Dr. Parish just transmitted to you match the ones from the mass shooting in Harlem? Right. Thanks. Please call me back ASAP."
"Kate, do you think someone killed the mass murderer?" Lanie questions.
"That's exactly what I think," Kate replies.
Rick stares down at the body. "If this is the corpse of the man who took out all those women, his killer did the world a favor."