Finding the Fit Chapter 105
Flour speckles Mathilde Jobrack's apron as she opens the door to Kate and Rick. "I'm sorry, Detective, I can only talk to you for a minute. I have a cake almost ready to come out of the oven."
"Ms. Jobrack, may we come in? You should go ahead and take care of your cake. What we have to talk to you about will take more than a minute," Kate says.
Puzzlement deepens the creases on Mathilde's face as she waves the couple inside. "All right. Take seats on the couch. I'll just put the pans on cooling racks. I won't be long."
"She doesn't have any idea that something is wrong," Rick whispers to Kate after Mathilde disappears down a hallway.
Kate nibbles her bottom lip. "Yeah, this is going to be a tough one."
Returning from the kitchen, Mathilde settles into a well-used damask-upholstered wingback chair. "So, is this about the robberies around here? There haven't been any on our street, and we have a security system."
Kate leans forward and softens her voice. "Ms. Jobrack, this isn't about robberies. It's about your son, Daniel."
Mathilde's fingers twist the hem of her apron. "Daniel? I always tell him to be careful with all that equipment. Has he had an accident? Is he all right?"
"I'm sorry to have to tell you, but Daniel is dead. I'm very sorry for your loss. Ms. Jobrack," Kate continues. "It wasn't an accident; it was a murder. Is there someone I can call for you? Your husband?"
"My husband is on a business trip and on a plane right now. He'll call me the minute he lands. He always does. But I don't know what to say to him. How could Daniel be murdered? My son is an artist. He never hurt anyone. Who would do such a thing?" Mathilde demands.
"We were hoping you could help us with that," Kate responds gently. "Is there anyone Daniel was close to who might know who had a grudge against him?"
"No, Daniel was too devoted to his art to take time for close relationships. He just won a competition for a showing at the Monarch Gallery."
"Very prestigious," Rick comments.
"Yes, it is," Mathilde agrees. "That's what the cake was supposed to be for. We were going to celebrate. He was going to feed Horatio and then come up and have dinner with me."
"Is Horatio his cat?" Rick queries.
"Yes, a calico. He really loved him. Have you seen him? Is he all right?"
"He's fine, Ms. Jobrack," Rick assures her. "He's safe at my loft. I saw him less than an hour ago playing with a catnip mouse."
Mathilde sniffs. "Yes, Daniel was always buying toys like that for him. He loves them. I'm glad you're taking care of him. I would, but Dennis, my husband, is allergic to cats. Daniel would always shower and change before visiting with his father."
"It sounds like Daniel was a very thoughtful man, Ms. Jobrack," Kate says.
"Yes, he was, about everything. When he planned his art, he didn't just think about how it would look. He calculated the physics of the motion."
"So your son created kinetic sculptures?" Rick asks.
"Yes. That's why I thought he might have had a problem with his equipment. He does - did - a lot of metal cutting and welding."
"There wasn't a sign of any of that at his apartment," Kate recalls. "Where did he work on his pieces?"
"His studio is in a warehouse near the docks. It was the only place he could afford enough space."
"I'd like the address if you have it," Kate requests. "We might be able to find some clue to who would go after your son."
"Yes, of course," Mathilde agrees. "I'll get it for you right now."
"The address Mathilde Jobrack gave us isn't that far from the Old Haunt," Castle notes as he and Kate return to her unit.
"No, it isn't," Kate agrees.
"I'll have to start calling Buddy Horatio," Rick muses as Kate begins the drive to lower Manhattan. "It fits, really. Horatio was Hamlet's confidante. Apparently, the furry version was Daniel Jobrack's as well. And Daniel worked with metal, so the bell makes some sense, too."
"But it doesn't give us any more idea who might have killed him," Kate replies. "Hopefully, something at his studio will."
Rick gazes around at acetylene torches and a large variety of metalworking tools, many of which he doesn't recognize, but look dangerous. "No wonder Mathilde was worried about Daniel hurting himself on something." His gaze suddenly shifts to a single framed photograph on the wall behind a workbench. "Kate, look at this, the guy with Daniel Jobrack: brown hair, brown eyes, Eastern European features, and free earlobes. He could be our murderer."
"Castle, that's the only photo in here and Daniel has his arm around the other guy. They were obviously very close. Why would he be the murderer?"
"Hey, Gauguin and Van Gogh started out as friends too. I heard a talk about them during one of my book tours abroad. They were part of the 'Yellow House' commune. But they disagreed so strongly about their approaches to art that Van Gogh ended up chasing Gauguin with a knife."
"Castle, Van Gogh was talented but crazy. He cut off his own ear."
"So, the line between creative genius and crazy can be very thin. Maybe this guy went crazy too. Anyway, we need to check him out." Rick takes the photo off the wall and slips it out of its frame. "There's a note on the back: 'Me and Kevin, May 2008.' That's long enough ago for a friendship to deteriorate."
"Castle, do you know how many Kevins there are in New York?"
"No, but I'm sure it's a very large number. However, the number of brown-haired, brown-eyed Kevins in the kinetic sculpture arena should be a very much smaller one. And Mathilde Jobrack told us that Daniel had a showing at the Monarch Gallery. Someone there must know about the potential stars of the kinetic sculpture world, or at least recognize the guy in the picture. Look, we both want to solve this case before we get married on Saturday and go off to Italy."
"You're right about that, Castle. Let's go to the Monarch Gallery. Can you look up the address on your phone?"
"No need. I know where it is in Greenwich Village, right down the block from a bakery that makes incredible chocolate cheesecake."
Kate shakes her head. "No wonder you know where it is. Let's go to The Village."
"Even in the artistic atmosphere of Greenwich Village, the Monarch Gallery stands out. Sculptures in motion grace a large window display next to a door bearing the name of the gallery above a bright rendering of a monarch butterfly. A loud bell sounds as Kate presses the buzzer for admission. For a split second, Rick expects a cat to appear. The door, however, is opened by a tall gangly man wearing a top hat and tails.
Kate holds up her badge. "Detective Beckett, NYPD. This is Mr. Castle. We're here to investigate a homicide."
Knees buckling, the top-hatted man collapses to the floor. Rick looks down at the supine figure. "Curiouser and curiouser."
Sighing, Kate calls dispatch for medics.