Papa Jack Chapter 19
"What intriguing insights have you discovered in my absence?" Richard asks, plunking a large carryout bag on Beckett's desk.
Kate scowls at her computer screen. "Nothing very intriguing – at least not so far. CSU's finished with the crime scene for now. They found some prints near the locks on the cases, but they matched Stuart Lehman. The door was full of prints, most of them smudged. They're still checking databases for a clean print that appeared fresher than the others. Whoever it's from doesn't have a local record and isn't bonded. Most likely just a customer. You were probably right about there being codes on the tags of the jewelry left behind, but the computer is password-protected. I want to put Tech on it, but they're backlogged."
"How about passengers on the shuttle from D.C. to New York?" Richard inquires.
"There were flights on three different airlines that would fit our timeframe – assuming the killer was on any of them. They'd have between 60 and 70 passengers each. That's too many passengers to check out without more information."
Richard holds up his bag. "Something will pop. Maybe some inspiration will come over a Spring roll or two."
Kate regards the bag. "Did you get the Moo Goo Gai Pan?"
"And all the accompaniments. Break room?"
Kate nods. "Break room."
Artfully picking up a mushroom with her chopsticks, Kate sighs. "I wish I had something more to go on."
Richard passes her a fortune cookie. "You could try this."
"And get what? Lucky lottery numbers?"
"Maybe a smile, if nothing else. And you never know from whence inspiration will arise. Once I…." Kate rolls her eyes. "Hey, a little sweetness can't hurt," Richard cajoles.
Shaking her head, Kate breaks open the cookie and reads the fortune. "'The key will soon be revealed.' Uh-huh, right."
Richard unwraps the second cookie that came with the order. "'Loved ones are the key to happiness.' Hmm, Beckett, if Tech can't get a look at that computer anytime soon, maybe we can. Where is it?"
"Back at the scene. Tech hasn't transported it yet."
"Then let's go back to the scene."
"Castle, are you kidding? There must be millions of possibilities for the password."
"Unless the cookies pointed us in the right direction. Have you got a better idea?"
"No," Kate admits, tossing a container back into its bag. "As soon as we clean this up, we can go."
"Gloves, Castle," Kate cautions, handing him a pair as they approach Lehman's Jewelry Emporium. "CSU hasn't officially released the scene yet."
The writer grins. "I feel like I should have a deerstalker hat and a magnifying glass. Or, actually, you should be the one in the hat. I'm more like Watson, trailing after you and taking notes. You'd look cute in the hat."
"I'm not here to look cute, Castle. And I hope I'm not here on a wild goose chase, either. The computer's in the back room."
Careful not to disturb anything, Kate slides into the chair in front of the computer. As the screen lights up, a request for a password is still front and center.
"Either his wife or his son should be #1 on his loved one list. Try 'Phyllis,'" Richard suggests.
Kate types in the name, and the icons for the various programs appear on the screen. The writer points at a giant Q. "Try that one. A buddy of mine with a comic book store uses it to keep track of his inventory."
"Really?" Kate asks, clicking on the icon. "Which comic book store?"
"Comicadia, why?"
"I love Comicadia. I bought my first comic there."
Richard's jaw drops. "You read comics?"
"I did when I had the time. I like Frank Miller."
"Wow! Hard core. Ooh, the program's coming up. Hey, look at that! A list of codes and a description of each piece. All we'll have to do is match what's still here with what's missing. Then we'll know what the killer stole so you can trace it."
"Castle, that could take hours."
"I just submitted my latest chapters to Black Pawn. I've got time. Have you got something better to do?"
"Not unless we get something on that fingerprint," Kate admits. "I can print out the lists. We might as well split them and get started."
Wearily rotating his shoulders after hours of matching codes to rings and bracelets, Richard stares at a large empty space in a case. "Booyah!"
Kate looks up from across the showroom. "Got something, Castle?"
"Our murderous thief likes pearls and combinations of pearls and large diamonds. There's a whole group of them missing here. Looks like together, they'd add up to about half a mil."
"Mmm, I think I have something here, too," Kate says, "a couple of emerald rings with large stones. They're $15,000 each."
"Looks like a pattern," Richard notes. "The killer steals jewelry with gems large enough to remove from their settings and either reset, recut, or sell as stones."
Kate nods. "Which would suggest an organized operation."
"Look, Beckett, I used a master thief as a model for a character for one of my books."
"I remember. You called him The Ghost."
"Right. He's retired now – at least officially – but he still has feelers into what's going on. I could go see him and find out if he has any idea who could handle an operation like that."
"You want to go see him alone? Castle, you're not a cop."
"Exactly. I'm not a cop, which means that if something incriminating came up in our conversation, I would not be forced to arrest him. You, on the other hand, might be."
"But then what happens if you tell me?" Kate questions.
"Nothing if I only tell you anything that relates to this case. As an author, anything else is research for a future book – a fictional book."
Kate drums her fingers against a display case. "All right. Let's finish up here so we have a complete list. Then, I can use police methodology to trace the stolen pieces. If you want to talk to someone about your books, I have no right to stop you. But I'm sure that as a citizen, you will share anything you find out that is pertinent to the investigation."
"Detective Beckett," Richard returns, "that would be my pleasure."
"Richard, dear boy," retired jewel thief extraordinaire Caine Powell greets the writer as a private elevator opens into his loft. "I hear you're working with the police now. I assure you that I've not done anything recently to attract the interest of law enforcement."
"As far as I know, the cops aren't after you, Powell," Richard assures the older man. "But they are after some particularly reprehensible pursuers of your profession."
"If you're talking about the robbery murders, that was never my profession, Richard. I only stole – and stole what was insured. I never hurt anyone. Those killers are monsters, beasts."
"I agree, the kind of beasts who should be behind bars for the rest of their lives. And to put them there, I need to know anything you can tell me about who they are."
"I've always stayed as far away from that part of the game as I could. You know that, Richard. But a few things have reached my ears. One is that the stolen items aren't traveling by land."
"You mean someone is putting them on a boat?" Richard asks.
"For only as long as it takes to get to a ship. Are you aware that some large ships serve as a form of permanent residence for experts with certain skills that are not appreciated in many ports of call?"
"The kind of skills that would have interested you when you were active in your profession, Powell?
"Goodness no, Richard. I stole creations of beauty that I would never see destroyed. I made sure they ended up where they would be fully appreciated. However, there are those who do not appreciate true art and are merely interested in the value of the components."
"Meaning that gems could be removed, recut, and reset."
"If you take that meaning," Powell agrees.
"And someone is doing it on a ship?"
"That is my understanding. Will that information help you and your new detective friend put those beasts where they belong?"
Richard lays a hand on his friend's shoulder. "I hope so."