[Castle] Ch: 65 [Tragic Truth] (Patreon)

[Cassandra Wells’s Office] [This takes place at the same time as the first part, before the call]

Cassandra Wells’s office was on the second floor of an older Chelsea building squeezed between a small art gallery and an expensive clothing boutique. The frosted glass door carried her name in gold lettering beneath the words SPIRITUAL CONSULTANT, which Castle studied for several seconds after Kate unlocked the door.

“So she’s a psychic who calls herself a consultant,” Castle said as he followed Kate inside. “That’s smart branding. Psychic sounds like twenty dollars and a folding table at a county fair. Spiritual consultant sounds like someone who charges three hundred dollars to tell you your dead grandmother dislikes your boyfriend.”

Lisbon stepped through behind him and shut the door. “You’ve been inside for six seconds, Castle.”

“And I already understand the business model.”

Kate pulled on a pair of gloves while looking around the reception area. “Try understanding it without touching anything.”

The office looked exactly like Castle had probably hoped it would. Shelves covered one wall, packed with candles, crystals, incense, dried herbs, small statues, tarot decks, and enough books about spirits and reincarnation to keep him entertained for several weeks. Heavy curtains separated the consultation room from a smaller office in the back, while a round wooden table stood beneath a hanging lamp surrounded by three upholstered chairs.

Castle walked slowly around the table and looked underneath it.

Kate watched him with suspicion. “Why are you looking under the table?”

“I’m checking for magnets, wires, hidden speakers, trapdoors, or possibly a very small accomplice.”

Lisbon stared at him. “Why would there be a very small accomplice?”

Castle straightened and gestured toward the room. “Professional mediums have been using stage tricks for centuries. Hidden knocks, moving objects, voices coming from walls. If Cassandra was convincing grieving people that their dead relatives were sitting beside them, I want to know how much of the supernatural experience came from electronics.”

From the other side of the room, Jane opened a cabinet without bothering to answer anyone.

Lisbon immediately noticed. “Jane, we have a warrant, which still doesn’t mean you get to start opening random things without telling anybody.”

Jane glanced over his shoulder with a pleasant smile. “It’s a cabinet in the office we have a warrant to search. That makes it considerably less random.”

“You know exactly what I mean.”

“I usually do.”

Lisbon gave Kate a look that seemed to apologize for several years of accumulated Patrick Jane problems.

Kate almost smiled before turning toward Cassandra’s desk. “Castle, check the appointment books and anything relating to Allison. Lisbon, can you take the filing cabinets? I’ll handle the desk and computer records.”

Castle pointed toward Jane, who had already wandered into the back room. “And what exactly is Sherlock Sunshine doing?”

Lisbon sighed as she followed Jane with her eyes. “Whatever he wants until he does something that gets us sued.”

“That sounds remarkably similar to my arrangement here.”

Kate pulled open the first desk drawer. “Castle, you have the mayor protecting you. Jane apparently survives through psychological warfare.”

Castle considered that comparison while moving toward a stack of appointment books. “I need to diversify.”

For the next several minutes, the room settled into a strangely efficient rhythm. Kate worked through Cassandra’s desk while Lisbon examined neatly labeled client folders. Castle went through the appointment books with far less restraint, commenting every time he found something remotely interesting, while Jane walked through the office as if he were visiting someone’s home instead of searching the workplace of a missing murder suspect.

“Cassandra had three different clients named Jennifer who wanted to know whether their husbands were cheating,” Castle announced while flipping another page. “Two husbands were cheating, one apparently wasn’t, and Cassandra still recommended a cleansing ritual for all three marriages. That feels statistically suspicious.”

Kate didn’t look up from the drawer she was searching. “Unless one of those husbands is Allison Reed, keep moving.”

Castle turned another page. “You never know. Serial killers have been caught through less interesting marital problems.”

Lisbon pulled a thick folder from the middle drawer of a filing cabinet and saw the name and the picture. “I’ve got Allison Morgan. Looks like she used her maiden name.”

That immediately pulled everyone’s attention toward her.

Kate walked over as Lisbon placed the folder on Cassandra’s desk. It was much thicker than any of the surrounding client files, packed with handwritten notes, photocopies, printed photographs, newspaper clippings, receipts, and pages of personal information.

Castle leaned over Kate’s shoulder. “For nineteen thousand dollars, I suppose you get the deluxe afterlife package.”

Kate opened the file and slowly worked through the first several pages. The notes started normally enough with Allison’s name, birthday, occupation, and contact information, but the deeper she went, the more detailed they became.

Daniel Reed’s favorite restaurant.

Sophie’s favorite song when she was twelve.

The name of the summer camp Sophie attended.

A childhood nickname Daniel used for Allison.

The route Allison normally took to work.

The anniversary of her first date with Daniel.

The location of Sophie’s school locker.

Kate stopped turning pages.

“This is too much.”

Castle leaned closer. “Too much for what?”

“For information Allison would casually give a medium.” Kate tapped one of the pages. “Some of this could’ve come from social media or public records, but this goes much deeper. There are details about Sophie’s friends, Daniel’s old coworkers, Allison’s routines, places she shops, even what days her housekeeper usually comes.”

Castle’s expression brightened as a theory arrived. “So Cassandra wasn’t communicating with the dead. She was stalking the living.”

Jane, who had been standing beside a bookshelf near the back, answered without turning around. “That’s how most convincing psychics work. You learn things the client doesn’t remember telling anyone, then give those details back wrapped in mystery.”

Castle looked toward him. “Cold reading.”

“Some of it,” Jane replied as he ran one finger close to a row of framed photographs without touching them. “Cold reading works during the conversation. This looks more like preparation.”

Kate continued through the folder until she found several photographs taken from across a street. Allison leaving her apartment. Allison entering Broderick & Vale. Allison buying coffee. Allison walking into the Weyland Hotel.

Lisbon’s expression hardened. “Someone was following her.”

Castle took one of the photographs by the edge. “Unless Cassandra secretly had an astral projection with a telephoto lens.”

Kate gave him a look.

Castle lowered the photograph. “I’m helping with atmosphere.”

Kate turned another page and found a small bundle of invoices clipped together. The first came from Sterling Investigations, a private investigative firm based in Manhattan. There were more beneath it, all billed to Cassandra Wells over the previous year.

Lisbon took the stack and quickly added the amounts in her head. “She spent more than twelve thousand dollars on private investigators.”

Castle leaned against the desk as the pieces settled into place. “So Allison pays Cassandra nineteen thousand dollars to speak to her dead family, Cassandra pays investigators twelve thousand dollars to spy on Allison, and then Cassandra tells Allison things no stranger could possibly know.”

Kate nodded slowly. “She was manufacturing proof.”

Jane finally turned from the photographs. “Probably. People grieving that badly don’t need much encouragement once you give them one impossible detail.”

Castle frowned as he looked through another report. “That still leaves a question. Why spend twelve thousand dollars researching one client when you’re only making nineteen? That’s terrible fraud economics.”

Kate looked toward him, surprised by the genuinely useful observation.

Castle noticed immediately. “You don’t have to look so shocked when I contribute something.”

“He’s right,” Lisbon admitted while checking the invoices again. “After taxes, office expenses, investigators, supplies, and everything else, Allison wouldn’t be especially profitable.”

Jane’s attention had already moved elsewhere. He crossed toward the wall behind Cassandra’s desk, where dozens of photographs covered several shelves. Most showed Cassandra with clients, meditation groups, television personalities, or people attending workshops. One picture near the end was different enough that Jane stopped in front of it.

Castle noticed him staring and walked closer. “Either you’ve discovered the doorway to another dimension, or that photograph is interesting.”

Jane took the frame down carefully. “This one wasn’t meant for clients.”

Kate joined them.

The photograph showed Cassandra at perhaps eighteen or nineteen years old, much younger than she was now. She lay exhausted against a hospital pillow with her hair stuck untidily around her face. A newborn baby rested against her chest while Cassandra looked down at the child with an expression that seemed completely different from the polished confidence in every professional photograph surrounding it.

Lisbon’s eyes narrowed. “I didn’t see any children listed in her background.”

“There aren’t any,” Kate replied. “Cassandra’s never been married, and the preliminary records didn’t show children.”

Castle studied the baby. 

Jane turned the frame over.

Lisbon immediately sighed. “Jane, don’t dismantle the evidence.”

“I’m looking at it.”

“You’re opening the back.”

“Because someone already opened it recently.”

That stopped Lisbon from arguing.

Jane pointed toward two small marks beside the clips holding the backing in place. The cardboard had been bent several times, and one corner showed a cleaner patch where dust hadn’t settled evenly.

Kate moved closer. “There’s something behind it.”

Jane opened the clips carefully and lifted the backing.

A folded piece of yellowing paper rested between the photograph and the cardboard.

Castle’s expression immediately changed. “Secret document hidden behind a photograph. Now we’re getting somewhere.”

Lisbon took the paper from Jane before he could unfold it himself. “For once, you’re letting somebody else handle evidence properly.”

Jane smiled. “I’m capable of personal growth.”

Lisbon carefully unfolded it across Cassandra’s desk.

It was an old hospital document from seventeen years earlier. Cassandra Wells’s name appeared near the top, along with a maternity ward number and several handwritten entries.

Kate read downward until she reached the line identifying the newborn.

Her eyes stopped.

“Female infant. Sophia Wells.”

Castle’s joking expression disappeared.

For several seconds, nobody said anything while the name sat between them.

Jane turned back toward the hospital photograph. Then his eyes moved across Cassandra’s shelves until they found a framed newspaper clipping partly hidden behind a stack of books. He pulled it forward and placed it beside the photograph.

The clipping concerned the crane accident that killed Daniel and Sophie Reed.

A family photograph accompanied the article.

Sixteen-year-old Sophie stood between Allison and Daniel with one arm around her father.

Castle looked from Sophie to the younger Cassandra holding the baby. “Well, that’s either the world's cruelest coincidence or our psychic has been keeping one hell of a secret.”

Kate studied both faces closely. Once the possibility existed, the resemblance became difficult to ignore. The same eyes were there, along with the shape of the jaw and several smaller features that photographs taken nearly seventeen years apart couldn’t completely hide.

Lisbon picked up the hospital record again. “This proves Cassandra gave birth to a girl named Sophia. It doesn’t prove that girl became Sophie Reed.”

“Adoption records might,” Kate said. “If Cassandra placed her daughter for adoption and Daniel and Allison eventually became the parents, we can confirm the chain.”

Castle slowly walked around the desk, his mind already building the story. “Young Cassandra gets pregnant, gives up her baby because she can’t raise her, spends sixteen years wondering what happened to her, then discovers the girl grew up as Sophie Reed. Maybe she watches from a distance. Maybe she never introduces herself because Sophie has loving parents and Cassandra decides disrupting her life would be selfish.”

Kate glanced toward him. “That’s actually plausible.”

Encouraged, Castle continued. “Then Sophie dies in a freak accident with Daniel. Cassandra blames herself because grief has never been particularly logical. Months later, Allison Reed walks into her office asking to speak to Sophie, without any idea that the woman sitting across from her is Sophie’s biological mother.”

Lisbon folded her arms. “And Cassandra says nothing because admitting the truth would destroy the entire psychic relationship.”

“Or because staying close to Allison becomes the closest thing Cassandra has left to staying close to Sophie,” Castle replied. “So she starts researching Allison obsessively, hires investigators, learns every family memory she can find, and feeds those memories back during readings.”

Jane had been watching Cassandra’s photograph rather than Castle.

“She probably convinced herself she was helping,” he said. “That’s usually easier than admitting you’re exploiting someone.”

Kate returned to Allison’s file and started going through the deeper notes again. The handwriting changed gradually over the months. Early sessions were organized and clinical, while later pages contained longer observations about Allison’s behavior, hallucinations, fear, and growing conviction that Sophie was appearing around her.

Then Kate reached the back of the folder and stopped.

Several sheets had been torn from the binder.

She ran one gloved finger near the damaged edges without touching them. “Pages are missing.”

Lisbon walked over. “How many?”

“Hard to tell exactly, but several.” Kate lifted the folder slightly toward the light. “The torn edges are cleaner than the rest of the paper. Somebody removed them recently.”

Castle leaned over again. “Cassandra takes detailed notes on Allison, hires private investigators to follow her, secretly turns out to be Sophie’s biological mother, then disappears the same day we discover Allison was poisoned with products connected to Cassandra.”

He paused as another possibility developed.

“That sounds spectacularly guilty.”

Jane smiled faintly. “Which is precisely why I don’t like it.”

Castle looked at him. “You think she’s being framed.”

“I think someone has gone to considerable effort to make sure that when we search this office, we find a woman with motive, opportunity, secret surveillance, an emotional connection to the victim’s daughter, and missing records.” Jane glanced toward the shelves of spiritual supplies. “That’s a very tidy story.”

Kate looked toward him. “Sometimes tidy stories are true.”

“Sometimes they are,” Jane replied. “Usually people are messier.”

Castle’s eyes drifted toward the hospital photograph again before another theory took hold. “What if Cassandra’s the victim too? Somebody discovers she’s Sophie’s biological mother, learns she’s secretly researching Allison, and realizes she’s perfect cover. They poison Allison through Cassandra’s own products because the police will eventually trace everything straight back here.”

Lisbon looked toward him. “That’s actually less ridiculous than your usual theories.”

Castle smiled. “I’m choosing to hear that as professional admiration.”

Kate opened one of the invoices again and examined the dates. “Sterling Investigations started following Allison around four months ago. The poisoning began roughly three months ago.”

Jane’s expression became more interested.

Kate placed the invoice beside Lanie’s timeline. “Someone could’ve learned Cassandra was using investigators, then used what those investigators discovered. Room 814, Allison’s schedule, her medications, her obsession with Sophie. Everything needed to manipulate her was sitting somewhere in Cassandra’s files.”

Castle pointed toward the missing pages. “And now part of that information is gone.”

Just then, Kate's phone rang...