Papa Jack Chapter 18
"It's not fair!" Phyllis Lehman exclaims, tears leaking from her eyes. "Stuart was going to get out of the business and sell the store. That's what he was doing there last night. A potential buyer was coming while it was quiet to look at some of the stock." Richard hands the distraught woman a handkerchief. "Thank you. My husband always carries – carried – one like this. Young men usually don't these days."
"My father taught me to always be prepared," Richard says gently.
"That's what Stuart was doing, preparing, showcasing his best jewelry for a buyer." Phyllis sinks into a jacquard-covered wing chair and waves Kate and Richard toward a nearby matching settee.
"So he was expecting a visitor," Kate assumes.
"Yes," Phyllis confirms.
"That would explain why the alarm was off," Richard offers.
"He only turned it on when he left for the night," Phyllis explains. "But all the most valuable pieces were in locked cases with shatterproof glass. Shoplifters couldn't just wander in and grab them."
"Would you be able to tell what was taken?" Kate asks. "If we could trace the pieces, they could lead us to your husband's killer."
"I didn't know that much about the business except that he wanted to get out of it. I think he kept an inventory on the computer at the store. He said that the big corporate chains were taking over, and they could afford to offer the same merchandise for less. He wanted to sell the store before he was forced out altogether."
"Did he tell you who he wanted to sell it to?' Kate inquires.
"He didn't mention a name, just that it wasn't anyone from a chain."
"Did he say anything else at all about the potential buyer?" Kate probes.
"No, um, yes! He said that the man was coming up from Washington D.C., and was going to take the last shuttle. That's why it was convenient for both of them to meet so late. When Stuart didn't come home last night, I figured maybe they went for a drink somewhere to close the deal."
Kate nods. "The shuttle from Washington D.C. That could help us track him down. Mrs. Lehman, you shouldn't be alone. Is there anyone we can call for you?"
"I called my son when I realized Stuart never came home. He was going to check a club where Stuart sometimes played racketball in the morning. He should be calling me back at any minute now."
"Good," Kate acknowledges. She pulls a card from the pocket of her blazer and hands it to Phyllis. "If you remember anything or need anything, call me."
Phyllis lays the card on an end table. "Thank you, Detective. I will."
"What would you want to bet that when you check out the other robbery homicides that the store owners were looking to sell?" Richard asks Kate as they return to her unit.
Kate shakes her head. "No bet. And I wouldn't put money on the killer coming in from D.C., either. But I'll check it out."
"Nasty little scam," Richard muses. "Make an appointment to see the owner at the store late at night. No one around. No alarm. Shoot the owner, grab the keys to any locked display cases, and take whatever you want."
"If that's what it turns out to be, that's how we'll investigate it, Castle. But first, I want to check with CSU. If the killer had to find Stuart's keys, he might have left prints – unless he wore gloves."
"Or he might have left one or two before that," Richard suggests. "It's too warm to wear gloves outside. He would have looked suspicious walking into the store with them on. So he might have left a print or two on the door."
"Castle, hundreds of customers could have left prints on the door."
"From what Phyllis said, Stuart didn't have hundreds of customers," Richard counters. "Gotta be worth a look, right?"
"Yeah," Kate concedes. "And we'll need to check out the computer and see if we can figure out what was stolen. I don't know that much about jewelry. We might need a detective from robbery to help out."
"Maybe not. When we were at the crime scene, I noticed that the baubles the killer left behind had little tags with code numbers. They're probably used for the inventory on the computer. With any luck, there may be descriptions to go with them."
"Good catch, Castle. We can check that out. But…."
"But what?"
"Your father telling you to always be prepared. Did he expect you to be comforting masses of weeping women?"
Amusement sparkles in Richard's eyes. "He never mentioned weeping women. He did point out that a handkerchief can serve as an emergency bandage. It can be used to shield your head from intense sunlight. You can mop up messes with one. You can even blow your nose into one. But nothing about female tears. Still, Phyllis Lehman seemed to appreciate the gesture."
"Yeah," Kate agrees, "she did."
Jack peruses the surprisingly voluminous intelligence file on Congressman William H. Bracken. It doesn't date back to the beginning of his time as DA of Manhattan but does begin as he campaigned for Congress. It notes contributions filtered through a U.S. bank but suspected of originating at a bank in Afghanistan. It also tagged contributions from several New Yorkers suspected of bringing drugs in from Afghanistan. Reading further, Jack studies the story of a man who, under the aegis of the Armed Services Committee, made several trips to Afghanistan, including one where he met with a local warlord suspected of participating in the drug trade. None of the information would convict the congressman in a court of law, but it is more than enough to keep an eye on his activities. Richard isn't cleared to receive the details of the report. Still, Jack can tell him that suspicions about Bracken would not be unfounded. Richard and Detective Beckett can take it from there.
It's been a while since Roy Montgomery was in a cop bar. Usually, he prefers to go home and spend some time with his wife, Evelyn, and his three kids, who are growing up too fast. A couple of months before, he trailed the bus that took his son Evan to sleepaway camp for the first time. It was hard to let go enough for the boy to spend even two weeks away from home. His daughter Rebecca is already interested in boys, and worse, they're interested in her. That's a whole other situation he wants to keep an eagle eye on. This evening, however, Roy has police work to do. He waves as Captain Mayfield enters O'Hallahans. "Hey, Gordy! It's been too long."
Gordon Mayfield slaps Roy on the back. "You've got that right. But you didn't call me just to hoist a few to old times. What's going on?"
"What's going on is you have a detective who may be dismissing related crimes as random. That assessment is preventing the NYPD from getting murderers off the street. Gordon, I'm asking you to help me stop it."
"Let's not dance around it, Roy. Which detective?"
"John Raglan."
Mayfield groans. "Raglan. I've had problems with him before, but whenever I've tried to take any action against him, it's been quashed from above."
"Quashed by whom?"
Mayfield shakes his head. "I don't know. I just received messages from 1PP saying I'd been ordered to lay off."
Montgomery draws himself up on his barstool. "Nobody's told me to lay off, and I don't intend to."