Papa Jack Chapter 10

"Wow! That guy's gonna have a lot more trouble than the ticket you gave him for rear-ending that sanitation truck," Richard asserts. "The front of his car looks like it's been through the trash crusher. But this has got to be the most exciting thing that's happened tonight. Knife-wielding rogue foreign agents aside, is this what patrol is usually like for you?"

"I get muggings and purse snatchings thrown in, but yeah, I do a lot of traffic stops," Kate confides. "If New Yorkers are anything, it's impatient."

"You've got that right," Richard agrees.

"Impatient drivers tend to do stupid stuff," Kate continues.

"Which is why I prefer to stick to the subway and throw in cabs when I need to."

"You don't have a car?" Kate queries. "I thought a best-selling author would have a Ferrari or at least an Escalade. Those seem to be popular among the privileged set."

"Do I detect a note of disdain in your voice, Officer Beckett?" Richard inquires. "I test-drove a Ferrari and discovered that in Midtown traffic, it wasn't any faster than a cab. Actually, it might have been a little slower. Cabbies can be pretty wily drivers. And privileged? What makes you think I'm privileged? I went to public school until I was lucky enough to score a scholarship to Columbia. I also have a thick file of rejection letters from before Playerboy published my first story and another one before Black Pawn accepted Rogue Revenge. Sometimes, my head still feels tender from all the times I banged it against a brick wall. Maybe I got lucky and made some sound investments, but I've still worked hard for every dime I have. And I still pound away at the keyboard every minute I can."

"Sorry, Castle. It's just that you were with all those big shots, and I was just …."

"A cop doing an exemplary job," Richard inserts. "One who will no doubt soon be doing it with a detective's shield."

"Maybe. I'll see when I get the results of my exam." Kate glances at the oversized watch on her wrist. "It's the end of my shift. I need to check in at the 12th and change out of my uniform."

"Hmm, I've never seen you in civilian clothes. I shall await your appearance with bated breath."

"You can go ahead and breathe, Castle. I'll be wearing a three-year-old T-shirt and five-year-old jeans."

"There is something to be said for well-broken-in garments," Richard offers. "And for where we're going for burgers, they'll be perfect."

Using a paper napkin, Kate swipes ketchup from the corner of her mouth. "I have to give it to you, Castle. Remy's does make a good burger. And I haven't had a strawberry shake since I was in school. How did you find this place?"

"Ah, it's a writer's secret of sorts. While I was waiting for Black Pawn to put out Rogue Revenge, I used to gather in society with other struggling writers at a bar called The Old Haunt, down by the East River. The company was stimulating, the beer was on tap, but the food, what there was of it, was far from superior. Ivan Feldsky, one of the other writers, told me about Remy's. One burger, and I was hooked."

Kate picks up a crisp french fry."Ivan Feldsky, I don't think I've ever heard of Ivan Feldsky. What does he write?"

"At the time, he was trying to write the great American novel, along with at least half of the other writers who patronized our haunt. But he realized that his true talent was in verse, particularly rhyming verse. So, he started writing greeting cards. It got him a steady job at Expressions Unlimited. As far as I know, he's still there."

"Are those the cards with the talking bears and bunnies?"

"That's them," Richard confirms. "Ivan doesn't get to put his name on anything but a deposit slip, but the last time I talked to him, he seemed genuinely content."

Kate swirls her fry in a red puddle. "Contentment, that must be nice."

"But you won't know until you find your mother's murderer, will you?" Richard probes.

Kate retreats from his gaze. "Do you always get this personal, Castle?"

"Rarely, actually. Only when someone intrigues me."

"And why, of all the cops in New York, have you focused on me to intrigue you?"

"In case you haven't looked in a mirror lately, Officer Beckett, you are a woman of uncommon beauty. More than a few beautiful women have been known to sidle up to bestselling authors, but I've never seen one with the look in her eyes that you have."

"And what look is that, Castle?"

"Determination and intelligence but tinged with sadness. Intriguing indeed. It will be fascinating to see how it changes when you unmask your mother's killer."

"If I unmask my mother's killer."

"You will. I can feel it. All you need is a fresh clue to put you on the trail again."

"And you really think you're going to help me find one, Castle?"

"I plan to give it one hell of a try," Richard declares.

Settled on the couch in Beckett's small and eclectically furnished apartment, Richard pages through the thin file containing the investigation of Johanna Beckett's death. "The cops really did the minimum," he observes. "And it looks like the same can be said for the medical examiner who did the autopsy. He didn't even determine the type of blade used or which wound resulted in your mother's death. He just left it at homicide by stabbing. Did you ever talk to him?"

Kate plops at the other end of the couch. "Other than going with my father to formally identify my mother's body, I never got the chance. I heard later that the ME passed away a couple of weeks after he did the autopsy."

"Of natural causes?" Richard asks.

"I don't know," Kate admits. "By the time I inquired about him, he was long gone. And as far as I know, there was no investigation."

"But there would have to be a death certificate," Richard figures. "Look, Officer Beckett – God, can I shorten that to Beckett? It's faster."

"Whatever, just get to the point, Castle."

"The point is that I have a consultant, Dr. Clark Murray, who's the best forensic pathologist in the city, maybe in the state. I'd like him to have a look at your mother's autopsy and check out the ME's cause of death, too."

"What's that supposed to accomplish, Castle?"

"I've got no clue, Beckett. But when someone does a shoddy job related to a crime investigation and dies that soon afterward, it makes my writer's nose itch. I'd really like to scratch it."

"And what does this expert of yours charge for his consultations, Castle?"

"Don't worry about it, Beckett. The calamine lotion is on me."

Kate sighs. "It's not like I have anything better. All right, Castle. Call your Doctor Murray."

"He's not my doctor, Beckett. That's why I'm hanging around all you cops. I'm trying not to need his kind of doctor for as long as possible. Too many Remy's burgers left to eat."

Kate can't suppress a smile. "Yeah, and don't forget the French fries."

Rick returns her smile. "Couldn't if I tried."