William Bernhardt - Strip search

"I think that maybe he took off his shoes and walked around in his socks when he was in here, because he did not leave tracks," Darcy continued. "As soon as he left the room, he put his shoes back on."

Which would be easy to do without attracting notice, if you worked right next door. But we still didn't have any proof.

"I think that even though he was a strong man he had to work really hard to open the window," Darcy continued.

"I know, Darcy, you've already-"

"He probably maybe even said a swearword, like my dad does when he can't get the attic door unstuck."

"Your point being…?"

"If he said something…he left behind saliva."

My eyebrows rose. "Two-point-five droplets a swearword?"

Darcy nodded. "Plus sweat. I smell sweat."

"Both saliva and sweat could be tested for DNA, if we can find enough of it."

"And Skin Bracer Cooling Blue aftershave lotion."

I did a double take. "You can smell his aftershave?"

"In the curtains." Darcy shrugged, then stared at the floor, fidgeting with his fingers.

"This is absurd," Castle protested. "This isn't real detective work. It's like…a stand-up comedy routine."

"Funny you should think that, Mr. Castle," I said, deciding to make my move. "Because it's clear to me we're looking for someone on the inside, someone your height, your strength, someone with intimate knowledge of the casino security system and how money is transported from the casino floor to the vault. Someone with an office nearby where the cash could be quickly stashed during the five-minute camera blackout. Someone who is smart, patient…and extremely fastidious."

"What the hell are you implying?"

"Well, I don't have Darcy's sense of smell, but that spray or pomander or whatever it is you have on your hair is practically gagging me."

"Also the foot powder," Darcy murmured quietly. "Peeyew."

"You know what I think, Mr. Castle? I think you knocked yourself on the head, pried open the window with a crowbar or something, then stashed the cash in your office."

"Now look here, Susan," Olivestra said, throwing back his shoulders and poking out his paunch. "I invited you here to solve a crime, not to latch on to the first suspect you met. I've known Dominic Castle for over fifteen years. He's one of my main men and there's no way I'm going to believe that he-he-" His face reddened and I was pretty sure he was exceeding the average saliva droplet expulsion rate. "-that he stole from me."

"Well, I could call Forensics, but you said you wanted to keep this quiet. I know you take DNA samples from your employees at the same time you fingerprint them, so I'll leave it up to you. Test the curtain for saliva and sweat, compare them with a sample from your main man, and see what you come up with, okay? You lay out enough money, you can have the tests done downtown in forty-eight hours. In the meantime, I noticed Mr. Castle has a grooming kit in his bottom desk drawer. Why don't you go open it and see if it has any Skin Bracer Cooling Blue aftershave? 'Cause if it does…" I wagged my finger under Castle's nose and put on my best faux-Cuban accent. "Lucy, I think you've got some 'splainin' to do."

Olivestra remained silent, but I could see his indignation concretizing into a cold realization of truth.

Castle began to sputter. "This-this is an outrage. Utterly reprehensible. I'm calling my lawyer and filing charges for slander and gross police misconduct. You haven't heard the last of me, Ms. Pulaski."

I stared deeply into Olivestra's simmering eyes. "Somehow, Mr. Castle, I kinda think maybe I have. Like, maybe, everybody has." I grabbed Darcy by the shoulder. He flinched, but didn't pull away. "C'mon, Darcy. You've earned yourself a custard. My treat."

"Why?" Amir pleaded, his hands pinned behind his back and his body pressed against the stainless steel plating of the fast-food grill. "Why are you doing this to me? I do not even know you!"

"I know you. I know who you are. More important, I know what you are."

"Please do not hurt me, sir. Please!" Amir cried, but it was no use. Thunderbolts of pain radiated up his arms and through his shoulder blades. "Is it my skin color? I am not from Iraq, if that is what you are thinking. Or Iran, or Saudi Arabia. I am from New Delhi."

"I don't care about that," Tucker said, pulling the man's arms even tighter.

"Then please stop. Please. I have a wife. I have three daughters. A newborn son."

"Uh-huh. And when was the last time you saw any of them?"

"I saw them-I saw them-why do you ask me this question?"

"Just wonderin'." Tucker was a big man, not tall, but thick, and rippling with muscles, muscles born of hard work, physical labor, not pushing weights around in some fancy-ass gym. He shoved Amir forward, pressing his bare chest against the edge of the cooking stove. Amir screamed, trying to push himself away. "Be careful! Please! I have not yet turned off the equipment."

"I noticed. I'm cookin' a little somethin' up for you."

"But why? I am nothing. I do not even run this place! I am just the assistant manager." His face was stricken, desperate. "Please-my wallet is in my back pocket. I do not have much, but whatever I have, it is yours."

Tucker tightened his grip on both of the man's arms, bending them almost to the breaking point. After all those years living off the streets, moving from one hardscrabble job to the next, Tucker knew what he was and what he wasn't. He might have many failings. But he was not a thief. The very suggestion made his blood boil. He wrapped a rubber cord around Amir's wrists, then secured him to the grill. "You got pictures of your little girls in that wallet?"

Amir hesitated. "Well…no. There is not so much room."

"Pretty much written them off, haven't you?"

"That is not true. I love my little darlings. I-"

"You got a new piece of ass, some slutty teenager who's workin' as your fry cook and will spread her legs for the cost of a quarter pounder."

"That is not true!" Amir squirmed, trying to keep his stomach off the super-heated stainless steel.

"Is. She's makin' it with Wilfred, too. The janitor. You know. The one with more acne than face."

"I-I do not believe it."

"And for that you gave up your family. Your wife. Your three girls."

"Listen to me, my man. There are things you do not know. Financial matters. My wife is better off-"

"And what about Anna, Khouri, and Indira? Are they better off?"

"Please. I do not know why you are asking me all these questions. I do not know…what business it is of yours. But I take care of my girls. I visit whenever I can-and I give them whatever-"

"When was the last time you made your child support payments?"

"My-" Amir stopped short. "Is that what this is about? Are you from the DHS? I know I am a little behind-"

"More than a little."

"But it is so hard, trying to make a living in this country, working sixty hours a week at a Burger Bliss. I barely clear twenty thousand American. I have told them that. I filed a report. Talk to your bosses."

Tucker gave the knot a twist, sending another searing bolt of pain coursing through the man's body. "Do I act like I'm from DHS?"

"Then-why are you here? Why did you knock me out? Why did you rip off my shirt? Why me?"

"Why here? Because I had to catch you at your place of work, alone, after everyone else left the joint." Tucker's expression flattened, and then he added. "And why you? Because you are Keter."

"Keter? I do not know this word Keter."

"Doesn't matter. I do."

They both heard the abrupt ring of the oven timer. "Ah," Tucker said. "The appetizer's ready."

He put on a pair of oven mitts, opened the door, and withdrew what at first appeared to be a long fireplace poker with a protective handle at one end. It was so hot smoke emanated from the end piece.