Papa Jack Chapter 11
Eyes flitting around the cavernous space in Richard's loft, Kate feels doubtful about the meeting with Charles Murray, or Dr. Death as Castle jokingly referred to him. The helpfulness of a consultant Castle uses primarily to generate fiction seems questionable at best. Still, she agreed to the meeting. Her files are laid out on a table. Castle made a pot of incredible coffee and put out a plate of crisp cookies that he said Murray favors. The pathologist should be arriving soon. Suddenly, Kate's bladder sends up a flair. Maybe she should have laid off the coffee. "Um, Castle, where's the….?"
He smiles his understanding and points. "There's one off my bedroom that way, or you can use the one up the stairs on the mezzanine. Take your choice."
Kate half trots toward the functional staircase to find an equally functional bathroom. While lacking fancy faucets or an oversized tub, it does have a shelf of reading material. Kate supposes that says something about any guests Richard entertains. She doesn't need reading material. She just wants to finish as quickly as possible, especially after she hears the doorbell buzz.
Descending the stairs, Kate immediately spots a bald-headed man at the table with Richard, who jumps to his feet. "Ah, Officer Beckett, may I introduce forensic pathologist extraordinaire Dr. Charles Murray."
Murray extends his hand. "Officer Beckett, Castle informed me that you're looking into a cold case, a murder. Is that correct?"
Kate nods, taking a seat. "It is."
Murray picks up a file. "Johanna Beckett. A relative?"
"My mother."
"Well," Murray declares, "I can understand why you want her murder solved. I see the autopsy report here. Let's have a look." Murray's eyes scan the pages, and he pulls out a photo. "I recognize the shape of these wounds from some consulting I did with the military. They're from a type of knife favored by mercenaries. And the pattern of the wounds tells a story." He points at one on Johanna's lower back. "See this one?" Kate and Richard nod. "It's deeper than the others and also rougher at the edges. It was the fatal blow. The killer plunged the knife into the kidney and twisted it, causing extreme blood loss. The other wounds make the stabbing look more random and less expert than it was. The murderer was attempting to disguise his skill level."
"So he was a mercenary who killed before?" Kate queries.
"That would be my educated guess," Murray confirms. "Were there other similar stabbings around the same time?"
"I don't know," Kate admits. "But I have a friend in the ME's office who may be able to find out for me."
"What about the death certificate for Dr. Marin, the ME who conducted Johanna Beckett's autopsy?" Richard asks.
"I was acquainted with Dr. Marin," Murray says. "We attended some seminars together. He kept a vial of nitroglycerin tablets in his pocket."
"So he had heart trouble?" Richard queries.
"That's generally the reason someone takes nitroglycerin," Murray responds.
Kate points at another folder. "This is a copy of Marin's death certificate. It attributes his death to coronary artery disease."
"Could the stress of covering up the details of a murder have given him a heart attack?" Richard questions as Murray studies the document.
"It's possible," Murray allows. "Or his disease might have progressed to the point where he'd lack the wherewithal to do a more thorough job with the autopsy."
Richard is silent for a moment. "Could someone who was aware of his condition have made sure the autopsy was assigned to him?"
"Autopsies are usually assigned to whoever is up in the rotation," Murray says. "But it's no secret as to who would do the post-mortem on a death at a particular time and place. Either way, a deliberately targeted murder could be passed off as random violence."
Kate stares down at the files. "So my mother was a target."
"Was she working on anything at the time that would piss off some sonofabitch enough to put a hit on her?" Richard asks.
"I don't know," Kate admits. "I'd been 3,000 miles away at Stanford that year. When we talked to each other, she asked me about school. She didn't say much about her work except that she was continuing to push for the rights of the underrepresented and – oh! She said that she was looking into the case of a mobster who claimed he was framed for murder."
"Seems like most of them try to claim that," Richard observes.
"Almost every felon we slap the cuffs on claims they're innocent," Kate agrees. "But Mom thought this guy might have been telling the truth."
"Do you know anything else about the case?" Richard asks.
"No, but my mother should have notes on it in her papers. My dad put most of her stuff in storage. It was too painful for him to look at it. But I have some of her files and other things at my apartment. There might be something about the case in those."
Murray's chair scrapes against the loft's hardwood floor as he rises from his seat. "Well, I think that's it for now. I have tickets for Tosca at the Met tonight. Aprile Millo is singing. I'll send you my bill, Castle."
"Yes," Richard acknowledges, "I'm sure you will."
"We should look through your mother's papers," Richard tells Kate after Murray's exit.
"Castle, I can do that on my own," Kate protests.
"But it never hurts to have an extra pair of eyes. I can bring what's left of the cookies," he offers.
"Bring what's left of your pot of coffee, and we have a deal," Kate counters.
Richard grins. "No problem."
"Your mother took strange-looking notes," Richard observes. "Some kind of code?"
"More like a private shorthand," Kate explains. "Mom developed it when she was a student at law school. She said it was not only quicker but kept her classmates from looking over her shoulder. Then, after she became an attorney, she kept using it. Work product is supposed to be immune from discovery by the prosecution. Still, that didn't keep the DA's office from trying to get their hands on it. But Mom made the joke on them. She turned it over, but they couldn't read it."
"Could you or your father?"
"No. She figured that if we could, we might be subpoenaed to translate. So she never told us how. After she was killed, I tried to figure it out, but I couldn't."
"Well, at least the letters to her in here are in standard English – more or less. I think this one must be from the mobster who claimed he was framed. His name is Joe Pulgatti."
"Joe Pulgatti," Kate repeats. "I never heard her mention him, but then she wouldn't for the same reason she wouldn't teach me her shorthand. However, if he was convicted of murder, it shouldn't take much to find him."
"Not much at all," Richard agrees. "There's an envelope attached to his letter. It came from Sing-Sing. If he was convicted of murder, he'd still be there. Ossining's only a little over an hour from the city. We could go talk to him tomorrow."
"I can check if he's there or not, but I'm on duty tomorrow, Castle, and patrol officers don't work cold murder cases – at least not officially."
"When's your first day off?"
"I have Thursday and Friday off. Then I work the weekend."
"OK, I could rent us a car for Thursday."
"Castle, Sing-Sing isn't the most pleasant place. You wouldn't have to go with me."
"Beckett, I've researched in worse ones. Have you ever smelled a gym where they…? Never mind. Anyway, for a writer, hearing a mobster plead his innocence is pure gold. I can't wait."