Papa Jack Chapter 76

"You get Beckett home, all right?" Ryan asks as Richard drops back into his seat at the conference room table.

"If by all right you mean totally resentful of not being able to hang around even if she couldn't keep her eyes open. Yeah, she's all right." Richard stares at the stacks of paper in front of the two detectives. "Turn up anything good while I was gone?"

Esposito snorts his disgust. "Nothing we can use."

"But we're about to start a new box," Ryan says, his earnest blue eyes still holding a faint gleam of hope. He hauls a box out of a corner and opens it on the table.

Richard reaches in to grab a sheaf of spreadsheets. "It looks like these are listings of imports from China and what Lofner and Peters paid for them. Hmm, that's different. Some of these are marked in purple. The notes on all the other paperwork were either in black or red."

"Purple?" Ryan queries. "Javi, didn't Loretta Peters say that Snodgrass ticked off his co-workers by marking things in purple?"

Esposito nods. "Yeah, she did."

"Then these must have been marked by Snodgrass," Richard figures. "There's a big purple arrow to some of these listings with a 'Why so cheap?" written in the margin. These could be the counterfeits. I wonder if they turn up anywhere else?" Richard rapidly flips through pages. "Yes! Here! These shipments have the same code number, but they show an intermediary destination before reaching the Lofner and Peters warehouse. They went to Muirland Stamping."

"Hey! I checked out counterfeit knives," Ryan says. "One of the ways you can tell they're not the real thing is that the logos are stamped instead of etched into the metal."

"Muirland must be phonying the knives up before sending them on to Lofner and Peters to sell," Esposito offers.

"And Snodgrass marked the whole operation in purple," Richard declares.

Ryan snaps his fingers. "One of the complaints his fellow workers had about purple markings might have been about those shipments. The receptionist told us that Loretta stays on top of everything at the company. That complaint is how Loretta Peters could have found out Snodgrass was wise to what the company was doing. So she took him out."

"And Loretta's fangirl sister, who had no idea about what Lofner and Peters was pulling off, was bending her ear about Donnelly," Esposito adds. "Lorna could have dropped it on Loretta that her hero had a source feeding him information about knife counterfeiting. So, Loretta put two and two together and decided she had to take out Donnelly too."

"Of course," Richard picks up. "Loretta tells her sister she wants to go running with her some morning and meet her favorite writer. She also talks Lorna into buying matching running suits, setting up a possible alibi. Loretta cozies up to Eric. Then, on the morning of the murder, it doesn't take much to get him to let her into his apartment. Once inside, she makes some excuse about having to use the bathroom or something. Then she grabs the chef's knife from the kitchen and, using her conscientiously strengthened muscles, stabs him in the heart."

"So it is Loretta, not Lorna, on the video from Chic Sporters," Ryan says. "But how can we prove it?"

Richard stretches in his chair. "Come on, guys. You've got motive, method, and at least half of opportunity. The other half is how Loretta got to Eric's apartment. You're the cops, which gives you one up on this civilian. You have access to the subway and traffic cams. And you might want to look into Muirland Stamping." The writer pushes away from the table. "You take care of the classic cop stuff. I'm going home to think of some way to get Beckett to look at me again without glaring." Grabbing his jacket, Richard heads for the elevator.

"I'll order the video footage," Ryan volunteers to his partner.

"Yeah," Esposito acknowledges. "I'll check with the DMV and see what Loretta Peters drives."

"And I'll see what I can find on Muirland Stamping," Ryan adds.

Shedding only his jacket, Richard flops on his back on his bed, gazing at the flickers of reflected city lights on his bedroom ceiling. Kate, who is hopefully asleep by now, isn't the only tired one. Between his research with her, his solo writing, and his free consultation for the NYPD, his sleep debt has been piling up. And now Beckett is mad at him. She didn't say it, but it was evident in the stiffness of her tone when she said goodbye without the faintest offer of a kiss or even a hand squeeze. Right now, the two of them are like the two sides of the same coin. He's swamped, and she wants more to do. Unfortunately, being on opposite sides of the coin has them looking away from each other. At any rate, Kate's looking away from him. She still draws him in like a magnet. He sighs, turning sideways with his head propped on his arm. He really should get some sleep. It wouldn't hurt to get out of his clothes or at least his shoes. His eyes drift shut. Maybe in a few minutes, he'll have the energy.

The grinding of a sanitation truck jolts Richard awake. He checks the watch still on his wrist. Six AM. Except for the ever-present light pollution, it's still dark outside, but he can sense that his brain is in no mood to attempt a return to dreamland. Resigned, he throws his feet over the side of the bed. He can start the coffee and grab a shower. If he recalls, he's got a leftover bagel he can grab. Then maybe he can get some writing in.

With the stiffness that always takes too long to work through, Kate slowly sits up in bed. What passes for sunshine in New York City is leaking through her blinds. She must have slept at least ten hours, maybe more. She wishes she had one of those coffee pots with a timer you can set to start up in the morning. Now that Castle introduced her to coffee that's worth drinking for more than a caffeine-induced buzz – maybe she'll get one. "Castle," she murmurs. She'd been really pissed off at him last night for insisting she quit working and get some rest. He had, of course, been right. He was also right about what her father would have said had he been at the precinct. But her father wasn't there, and she hates to be reminded of any weakness, even a temporary one. Still, Castle was only trying to do the right thing. She shouldn't have been angry at him for that. It's too bad that she doesn't have a clue how to tell him. Maybe after she's had some coffee, something will come to her.

Caffeinated, showered, and dressed, Kate's still mulling over what she'll say to Castle when a familiar knock sounds at the door. The writer holds out an insulated carrier. "A peace offering of sorts. I was writing a scene where Nikki meets a source in a breakfast-all-day dive, and I remembered that you enjoy omelets. So I thought that maybe you might like…."

Smiling, Kate grabs the carrier. "That's very sweet, Castle. And you thought right. I'm starved."

"Hey, I'm…." The two of them blurt out simultaneously as Kate unloads the food.

"You first," Richard urges.

"Castle, I'm sorry I snapped at you last night. I know you were just trying to take care of me. I just hate needing help from anyone."

Richard's mouth twitches. "I have noticed that. But I could have been more diplomatic. So, we're good?"

Kate stretches up for a kiss. "We're great."