Papa Jack Chapter 95
The arches and pillars of the Drummond townhouse clearly indicate the wealth of the owners. The white stone is spotlessly clean, speaking of regular power washings to combat the grime typically accumulating on the surface of New York City buildings. Kate's fingers lightly tap against her badge as she climbs the solid steps, with Richard at her side. She presses the button on the intercom.
A stiffly formal voice emerges from the speaker. "Please state your business."
"Detective Kate Beckett and Mr. Castle to see Mrs. Celia Drummond. She is expecting us."
"Very well. You may come up. Please wait in the anteroom until Mrs. Drummond is ready to receive you."
A buzzer sounds, and Richard pushes the heavy outer door open. Kate starts up the gleaming wood staircase in front of them, with Richard behind her. The small room at the top of the stairs contains several tapestry brocade-upholstered antique chairs. We might as well sit," Richard suggests. "It doesn't appear that the mistress of the house is in any hurry to greet us."
After ten minutes, a traditionally dressed butler with graying temples appears. Kate recognizes his voice from the intercom. "If you'll follow me, Mrs. Drummond will see you now."
The butler leads the way to a room with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. A gray-haired woman in a conservative but exquisitely cut gray silk dress and silver jewelry looks up from her seat at a small table. Celia Drummond holds Kate in a steely gaze. "Detective Beckett, I took it from our earlier conversation that you are attempting to locate my nephew Kyle. As I informed you, our family severed contact with him at his conviction. Mr. Castle, I enjoy your books, but I must inform you that if they in any way reflect our interaction on this matter, you and your publisher will hear promptly from my attorney. So, as willing as our family has always been to support law enforcement, I don't see any way in which I can help you."
"Mrs. Drummond," Kate says, "You've been very direct with Mr. Castle and me. I'm going to be as direct with you. We have new evidence implicating Kyle not only in a rape but a murder. Murder has no statute of limitations. We can't and won't stop looking for Kyle, no matter how long it takes to find him."
"The dark cloud of that crime will hang over your family until the case is closed, whether it takes days or decades," Richard picks up from Kate. "I'm sure you can see that if you have any clue to Kyle's whereabouts, it would be better for all concerned to tell Detective Beckett now. No attorney can interfere with the freedom of the press. The longer a murder remains unsolved, the more likely it will be for crime writers to speculate. The Drummond name will appear in print. Worse than that, the case could be featured on true-crime television. There are whole cable channels of that now with a lot of hours to fill. A murder pointing at the Drummond family would be considered quite a coup."
The matriarch pales. "A true crime show! No Drummond would cooperate with that trash."
"They wouldn't have to," Richard counters. "The producers hire actors to portray characters in reenactments. What they don't know, they make up and tag as theory – the more scandalous, the better. Or you could cooperate with Detective Beckett and help her close the case as quickly and quietly as possible. Make the scandal-mongers search elsewhere for fresh meat."
Resentment blazes in Celia's eyes. "Very well. There's not much I can tell you. I haven't talked to Kyle since his first scrape with the law. I also cut him off from his family stipend. However, his father, my late brother Linus, set up a trust fund for him at the Demerest Bank. He would have access to that. Kyle also has tastes that most members of the family would consider inappropriately gaudy."
"You mean gaudy clothes?" Kate queries, her pen poised over her notepad.
"Clothing, yes, but also cars and furnishings. He has a strange preference for furs, particularly leopard skin. As a teenager, Kyle asked Linus for a Ferrari with," Celia's lips curl in distaste, "leopard fur seat covers. Of course, Linus refused. Still, with Linus gone and his trust accessible, Kyle might be indulging himself. That's all I can tell you."
"Is there another family member Kyle might be in contact with?" Kate questions.
"As I said, the family officially cut ties with Kyle. However, Joseph, my sister Margaret's son, was friendly with Kyle. Joseph, unfortunately, has some tastes and interests similar to Kyle's. It's possible that Joseph and Kyle are still in touch."
"What is Joseph's full name?" Kate asks.
"Joseph Parker Simmons the Third, but," Celia shakes her head, "he insists on calling himself Seppie."
"Seppie," Kate repeats, jotting down Celia's revelations. "Thank you, Mrs. Drummond. That could be very helpful."
"Just do whatever you're going to do as quickly as possible," Celia returns. "I'll have Stanford show you out."
"So, track down Joseph Parker Simmons the Third?" Richard inquires as he and Kate return to her unit.
"You mean Seppie?" Kate asks. "I don't know why, but that name makes me picture an organ grinder's monkey."
"It did sound like Seppie and Kyle were into monkeyshines together," Richard offers. "So, are we going to find him?"
"Of course, we're going to find him," Kate asserts, "but Tracy Stevens, the salon witness, should be coming into the precinct in about an hour. We'll have to be there, or at least I'll have to be there."
"Hey, Tracy's my witness," Richard declares. "It would be impolite of me not to be on hand to greet her."
"All right," Kate says. "Let's go."
Tracy settles into a couch in the interview lounge, wrapping her hands around a latte Richard crafted for her. "As I told you before, Richard, I didn't get that good a look."
"The logo you said you saw on the man's jacket, was this it?" Kate holds up a picture of a Lifestream Water label.
Tracy peers at the image. "Yes! That was it. I remember the little droplets of water from the spray. That's why I told Richard it looked like a sprinkler."
"And the man you saw," Kate continues, "what did he look like?"
"I only saw him from the side," Tracy recalls. "He looked pretty well put together – no belly sticking out, but he wasn't that tall. Maybe five-nine or five-ten. White, and I think his hair was dark blond or light brown. And -oh- I remember. His nose has one of those bumps people sometimes get when they break it. It might not even have shown up from the front, but I could see it in his profile."
Richard offers her a wide smile. "That's great information! It should really help."
"You think that guy's a murderer?" Tracy questions. "I mean, most of us live in the neighborhood. Should we be scared?"
"We don't know if he's a killer. Right now, we just need to talk to him. But if he turns out to be a suspect, we have a pretty good idea of his motive. He has no reason to wander the streets to kill anyone else," Kate reassures her.
"Is that true, Richard?" Tracy demands.
"Yes," Richard confirms. "Just don't take any candy – or water bottles – from strangers."