Evelyn

Chapter 1

"Where do you want to start?' Rick asks, gazing at the rows of heavy metal shelves filling the cavernous underground storage archives.

"I have no idea," Kate admits. "Maybe we can just pick a common letter that would have the most cases filed under it."

"As any Wheel of Fortune aficionado can tell you," Rick points out, "that would give you a choice of 'R,' 'S,' 'T,' 'L,' 'N,' or 'E.'"

Kate bumps against his hip. "I thought Jeopardy was your game show addiction."

"Wheel of Fortune comes on before it, and it helps to get set and ready to listen to the sage wisdom of Alex Trebek. Pat and Vanna are palate cleansers."

"If you say so." Kate points at the placards identifying the aisles of racks. "Well, of those letters, 'E' is the closest. It's as good a place to start as any."

Rick shakes his head as he rummages through a box marked, "Eubanks." "Nothing that looks promising here. The detective was pretty sure who the perp was, but he disappeared in 1943. He was 38 at the time. Digging him up would be literal. What have you got?"

"This one is strange. It just says, 'Evelyn,' with no surname. It's the name of a little girl who claimed she saw the angel of death take someone. An unidentified male in Harlem saw her wandering around and called the cops."

"What year was that?" Castle queries.

"1970."

Rick rolls his eyes. "Back then, I'm surprised they bothered to come. From what I recall, the area was just starting to come up again when Bill Clinton put his foundation there in 1993. I was just finishing college at the time, and remember it causing quite a buzz on campus."

"I think I was in sixth grade," Kate figures. "I heard Mom and Dad talking about some of that, but I was more interested in Jason Priestly and Luke Perry than in Bill Clinton. His sax playing was cool, though. But anyway, the cops took Evelyn to social services. She was so traumatized she never said anything except about the angel of death – not even her name. The social worker found 'Evelyn,' sewn inside the collar of her dress. A few days later, a body turned up in a dumpster a few blocks from where Evelyn was picked up. The M.E. said the victim had been killed with a weapon consistent with a scythe, but they never identified the body or the killer. There's not too much else here."

Rick looks over Kate's shoulder at the contents of her box. "At least there aren't any indications that organized crime was involved, just some nutcase with a scythe. If Evelyn thought he was the angel of death, he probably wore a costume or something too."

"Uh-huh," Kate agrees. "It's been over 40 years, and the neighborhood has changed a lot. I doubt if we'll find anyone there who might remember seeing anyone like that. But from the look of this, the cops originally on the murder didn't work very hard trying to solve it. Chances are that if there were any witnesses, no one ever questioned them. We can go up to Harlem and start asking around."

Castle grins. "Ooh! If we're going to do that, can we get chicken and waffles? There's a place on Malcolm X Boulevard where they're out of the world."

"An hour and a half," Kate remarks, consulting her large watch. "Not a record, but close."

Rick stares at her. "An hour and a half what?"

"Since breakfast and you're already talking about food again."

"I can't help it if I'm a connoisseur of culinary triumphs. There are two sensory experiences to be savored and cherished," he asserts. "Food is the one we can enjoy in public."

"Well, in that case, help me finish going over everything in this box before we go to Harlem. We'll see if we can find anyone around who still remembers Evelyn or the crazy she saw. If the timing works out when we get uptown, we can check out the chicken and waffles."

"You did that little thing you do with your tongue when someone mentions dark chocolate or cronuts. You're looking forward to getting it around a waffle too," Rick insists.

Kate winks. "You can worry about my tongue later. Let's get to work on this case."

Rick raises his hand in salute. "Yes, ma'am!"

Grady can barely remember a time when he wasn't taking care of the pool hall. When he was a teenager, he swept up, watched the numbers runners come and go and kept an eye out for strangers. Years later, with the place turned upscale, he polishes the wood and makes sure everything around the tables is in good shape. There are no more numbers runners. First, the games had competition from off-track betting and then from the lottery. Now, folks who want to blow their money can go to Atlantic City or Foxwoods. The traffic in and out of the Side Pocket now is mostly serious players. They like everything clean and in perfect shape.

When the beautiful cop and the man with her come in, Grady can't help wondering what they want. The only thing around the hall now that should be illegal is the price of the shoes on some of the customers.

Kate's eyes fall on a man with a cloth in his hand. His clothes are clean, but far from new. His close-cut hair is white, and the stubble beginning to form on his jawline is white as well. If anyone was around at the time Evelyn saw the grim reaper, he'd be Kate's candidate. She holds up her badge, but it's clear he's already seen it. "Detective Kate Beckett, and this is Mr. Castle. We're looking into an incident that took place in this area in 1970."

"You talkin' about that poor little girl," Grady questions, "the one who saw the killer?"

"You remember her?" Castle queries.

"Remember her? I'm the one who saw her outside, shaking, tears flowing down her face. I called the cops, and they took her, but they never did find the angel of death she said she saw. Some folks around here were scared to let their young ones out to go to school. They walked them when they could, but it wasn't like now with money coming in. Back then, most people were barely holding it together. Some of 'em couldn't even do that, and folks from downtown didn't give a damn. Sorry, ma'am."

Kate shakes her head. "It's fine. I've heard the word before." Kate notes the name embroidered on the pocket of his shirt. "And believe me, Grady," she inclines her head toward Rick, "we give a damn. So what else can you tell me? Do you know if anyone besides the girl saw a man dressed like the angel of death, or anyone with a weapon like someone playing the part would carry?"

"Not dressed like that. There was a guy with a blade, but it was more like a tool. Some of the out-of-town landlords had their managers slip him a few bucks to clear weeds off their property. But he never threatened or hurt anyone that I heard about. Seemed like he was just trying to survive like everyone else."

"Is he still around?" Kate asks.

"Disappeared years ago," Grady replies. "I don't know if he died or moved on somewhere. But he used to stay in the basement of this building sometimes. Some of his tools might still be down there."

"We'd like to take a look," Kate requests.

"Sure," Grady agrees. "Not much to see, but you can follow me. And mind the stairs. When they fixed this place up, they didn't do much to what customers can't see."

After opening a door near the back of the hall, Grady pulls on a string to light a single bare bulb. Holding tightly to the rail, he slowly descends with Kate and Rick behind him, the wood creaking beneath their feet. He points toward the far corner of the dank expanse. "What's left is there."

Kate pulls out her Mag-Lite to augment the meager illumination as she examines spider-web covered tools leaning against the wall. Her gaze falls on a scythe, and she shines her bright beam along its length. "This must be it. I don't see any blood, but the lab can pick up what's invisible to the eye." She turns to Grady. "Do you mind if I take this with me?"

He shrugs. "Doesn't belong to me or anyone here. No one to say no."

Kate pulls gloves and the biggest evidence bag she has out of the pockets of her slacks, to enclose the implement. "Thanks, Grady. We appreciate your help."

He nods. "You just find the killer who scared that little girl."

"We'll try our best," Kate promises.