Unexpected Appearance Chapter 41

Waking up in her own bed – at least until Castle has a chance to talk to Alexis about the change in their relationship – Kate reaches for her insistent phone. "Beckett, there's been a murder in Washington Heights," Ryan reports.

"Wouldn't that be the business of the 33rd or 34th Precinct?" Kate inquires.

"Normally, yes. But we're the ones who most recently pulled in the victim for questioning. Beckett, it's Vulcan Simmons."

"I'll meet you up there." Kate quickly ends the call and speed-dials Castle.

Grinning, Rick reaches for his phone. "Good morning."

"Not so good," Kate says. "We just lost a connection between Bracken and the drug trade. Someone took out Vulcan Simmons. I'll pick you up on my way to the murder scene."

Hunt observes the early morning exit of the women from the mansion in the woods. They look tired but in good spirits, chatting as they board the bus. He's seen his share of prostitutes going home after a night's work, often exhausted but resigned. These ladies don't have that vibe at all. They're acting more like they found a few of the goose's golden eggs. Whatever they're doing pays well and doesn't particularly weigh on their consciences. And who is that showing up looking content with himself? Hunt searches his memory palace of operatives. Nicholas "Nick" Kasparov, well-known facilitator and fixer for the oligarchs and anyone else who feathers his nest. Hunt's run across him before and noted one thing about him. He will receive orders, but they have to come from someone with considerable power. And once he gets them, he keeps his finger on every aspect of a venture. Nick's involvement just upped the danger emanating from the New York operations considerably.

The body lays sprawled on a red satin sheet, now a deeper red with blood. The rest of the living quarters behind the auto repair shop are as garish as the oversized gold-plated bed. The taps in the bathroom are also gold-plated, as is the toilet seat. The pajama bottoms Simmons wears appear to be made of silk. His chest is bare except for several pounds of gold jewelry. "The man loved his gold," Rick observes, "but it was no luckier for him than it was for King Midas."

"Who called it in?" Kate inquires of one of the cops who secured the scene.

"The service manager. He said he came in early to set up for the day's business. When he went into the back to ask the victim a question, he found the body."

"Perlmutter, have you got a TOD?" Kate asks the ME working over the corpse.

"Between two and four am this morning. One bullet in the spleen, one in the liver. That accounts for the large amount of blood. He would have lived in considerable pain for a few minutes before dying of hemorrhagic shock."

"If he was lying there asleep, a killer could have just as easily popped him in the head, the heart, or both," Rick says. "The shooter was a sadist. That doesn't fit Lockwood. He tortured Ryan but only after offering him an easy death. A sadist wouldn't do that."

"No, he wouldn't," Kate agrees, motioning Rick to talk outside. "But why kill Simmons at all – unless someone tipped Bracken that he was under increased surveillance?"

"Which would mean a mole in the NYPD," Rick realizes. "Beckett, someone could be keeping Bracken informed about our whole investigation."

"Only the parts of it that we report to the NYPD. But Castle, if Krumholtz is billing the department for his work, someone might go after him. I should put a security team on him right now."

"But what if the mole hears about the security team?"

"You have a point, Castle. But our whole murder case against Bracken could hang on Krumholtz. We need to keep him safe. How the hell do we do that if we can't use cops?"

"I don't know, Beckett, but I know whom to ask."

"It seems like every minute, more questions open up about this case. Castle, if you're talking about Hunt, I know he's your contact, but I want to talk to him too."

"He knows that I'll be passing information to you anyway. I'll see what I can do."

While joyful cries of children float in from a playground on the perimeter of Central Park, Rick leads Kate to a bench in an area occupied more by pigeons than people. She fidgets with the hem of her jacket. "How long are we supposed to wait for him?"

"Until he gets here. He'll be doing a sweep to make sure we're unobserved, including by the cops assigned to the park. None of the cameras are aimed at this bench or the one behind it. So, however long it takes, we'll have privacy."

"Spy versus spy again."

"More like common sense. If we're trying to avoid a mole, we can't hang out near its tunnels. Anyway, that looks like him coming now. Can't miss that hair. I hope mine's that full when I'm his age."

"It might be. You look a little like him now, something around the eyes."

"Yeah, I've noticed that too. Hey! Shhh!"

Hunt takes a seat back to back with Rick. "Don't turn around. So you think Bracken has a mole in the NYPD?"

"We think it's a possibility," Rick replies. "And right now, we can't risk it. We have a guy we need to keep safe."

"Meaning Krumholtz."

"How did you know that?" Kate asks.

"We make it a point to know who can handle tech," Hunt says. "We can put a team on him, but the safest thing would be to move him. He has no more classes to teach this term. We can keep him under wraps for a while."

"But he has work to do. And if he doesn't do it, my case falls apart," Kate protests. "He'll need his equipment."

Hunt chuckles. "Equipment won't be a problem. The company has its faults, but we do have an outstanding toy collection. However, convincing him that he is still playing for the right team might be problematic. That's where you'll have to come in, Richard, or better still, both of you."

"Whatever it takes," Kate says, "but it better be soon. Whoever killed Vulcan Simmons might be going after the next name on his to-do list."

"Did Simmons' killer have a signature, a specific pattern of shots?" Hunt asks.

"A nasty pattern, one in the liver, one in the spleen, " Rick replies. "I think our grumpiest ME still felt a little sorry for Simmons."

"One in the liver and one in the spleen," Hunt repeats. "I'll doublecheck our files on hitters, but I think I know who that might have been."

"Someone who works for the Russians?" Kate asks.

Hunt nods slowly. "If I'm right, one specific Russian."

"This Russian's name wouldn't, by any chance, be Nicholas Kasparov?" Rick queries.

Hunt's brows jump. "How did you figure that out?"

"You agency guys aren't the only ones with sources," Rick replies, pride tinging his mellow baritone. "Beckett, I think the noose is finally starting to tighten."

"Yeah, Castle, as long as it doesn't tighten around us. But what's the next step with Krumholtz, Hunt?"

"I'll need to set some things up. You two will need to be at Krumholtz's lab in three hours. Matters will proceed from there."

"Proceed how?" Kate demands.

Hunt pushes off his bench. "You'll find out in three hours."