Chapter 1114 A Meaningless Murder (Patreon)

"Watch your mouth, Mr. Castle. Reality isn’t one of your novels—you can’t just slap a character arc on someone because it sounds good."

For a moment, Caesar Calderón looked like a wounded old wolf, baring what remained of his fangs. But that was all—after Jack gave a dismissive snort, Calderón backed down and resumed defending himself.

"Yes, I loved Valerie, and yes, she returned that love. But we never fought. And that night—I was here, in this suite. I didn’t go anywhere!"

"Let’s set aside the fact that you have more than enough money to bribe hotel staff into vouching for your alibi," Beckett said coolly, laying a photograph in front of him.

“We told you earlier—after Dr. Monroe was killed, her body was sent to the funeral home. This is surveillance from an ATM less than a block away from that location.”

She pointed to a black Cadillac DeVille visible in the frame. “Recognize this car? You often used it to drive Dr. Monroe to the park, didn’t you?”

“As we speak, our forensics team is comparing the nylon fibers from her body to the lining of this car’s trunk. I’ve got a feeling the results won’t be in your favor.”

Calderón blinked, his eyes swimming with disbelief. He murmured to himself, “No, no… I was here. I remember that night. I didn’t go anywhere. That car… I remember…”

“Maybe your dear brother Manuel can help clarify things,” Jack said, stepping forward to block the hallway leading to the bedroom.

There was little chance of resistance, but Jack preferred to be cautious. He wasn’t about to let some cheap crime drama twist play out—like someone rushing into a room to grab a shotgun.

“Madre de Dios…” Calderón turned, staring at his brother in disbelief. “It was you? You took the car keys? Look at me. My brother!”

Tears glistened in Manuel’s eyes as he responded, his voice trembling. “You don’t understand, hermano. I had to. I did it for you.”

“Manuel! Why?” Calderón roared, one hand instinctively clutching his chest.

“She was a snitch, Caesar,” Manuel growled. “I saw the man waiting for her outside the restaurant and followed him. He was a special investigator with the state prosecutor’s office. That woman betrayed you.”

Castle and Beckett exhaled quietly. Though they had been sure Calderón was connected to Monroe’s death, they had considered countless motives. But not this—not a tragic misunderstanding.

“Why didn’t you come to me first?” Calderón’s expression contorted with rage and pain.

“Because you were blinded by love,” Manuel said, voice cracking. “I know you, brother. When you gave her mamá’s bracelet, I knew then—I was the only one who could stop her from hurting you.”

“What have you done… my brother?”

Calderón reached out to grab Manuel’s collar, but his body failed him. Instead, he sagged forward—held up only by the man who had killed for him.

“He struck her on the back of the head and knocked her out,” Castle said, his voice laced with pity—not for the brothers, but for Monroe. “Then he injected air into her neck—something I imagine he learned from caring for you.”

“No blood. No mess,” Beckett added. “Then he placed her body into someone else’s coffin. That way, no one would ever find her.”

“I’d guess he had a cover story planned too,” Jack said, pulling out a pair of handcuffs. “Maybe something about her giving him the bracelet before she ‘left town.’ And then he’d wait… wait for the right time to spin the lie.”

“Why?” Calderón gasped in Spanish, voice rasping, eyes full of pain.

“I’ve always done this, haven’t I?” Manuel answered, still in Spanish. “Made people disappear. No body, no crime. You taught me that.”

Beckett stepped forward and accepted the cuffs from Jack, now standing behind Manuel.

“Manuel Calderón, you’re under arrest for the murder of Dr. Valerie Monroe. You have the right to remain silent…”

Manuel offered no resistance. He knew this time was different—he and his brother were no longer drug lords, just aging “investors” in New York’s elite circles. And with their bloody past, they were already being watched like hawks by federal agencies.

“I couldn’t let her hurt you… or the family. I thought…”

But Jack cut him off. “Valerie Monroe wasn’t trying to hurt anyone. Yes, she was working with the prosecutor’s office—but she wasn’t investigating you or your brother.

They didn’t care about your family. They were looking into corruption at the county hospital. Your murder was meaningless.”

Calderón collapsed back onto the couch, clutching his chest as if his heart were ready to give out.

But nothing happened.

To Jack’s disappointment, the drama ended quietly. As the trio escorted Manuel out of the suite, Caesar Calderón remained behind—silent, hollow-eyed, staring up at the ceiling, completely alone.

—

“Drinks at my place?” Castle offered as they left the hotel. The case was closed. What came next was up to the courts. He was already browsing flights to Vegas on his phone.

“Nope. We’re not done yet,” Jack said, gesturing toward his R8. Beckett’s patrol car had been used to transport the suspect, so Castle had no choice but to ride with Jack.

“What else is there?” Castle asked, confused.

“Two things. First, notify the DEA. Tell them to monitor Calderón’s financials. The feds have never nailed him because most of his money is in offshore accounts.

But now? His closest family member just got locked up for murder. He’ll want the best lawyers in New York. That means cash—and possibly a leak.”

Jack wore a predator’s grin. He wasn’t obsessed with cosmic justice. The world didn’t need to end with the villain behind bars. But if there was a shot at knocking a bad guy down a peg? He’d gladly take it.

“You think Calderón will still try to save the guy who murdered his girlfriend?” Castle looked doubtful.

“Who knows?” Jack shrugged. “But before Monroe, Manuel was all he had. And even after she came into the picture, Manuel stayed by his side.”

He trusted his instincts—and it cost him. Maybe he’d try to make it right.

“So what’s the second thing? Where are we going?”

Jack turned onto Central Avenue, driving north.

As they approached Columbus Park, he pulled into a random spot, typing quickly on his phone—sending a message to ADA Erin Reagan.

“I think,” he said, “we might just have a shot at correcting a wrongful conviction.”