A/n: Long time, no publish! This is a story I've been working on since March, loosely inspired by several different things, among them J.D. Robb's In Death series and The Rookie. The title comes from "All The King's Horses" by Karmina, which I highly recommend you listen to. It's a great song. To me, it feels like something that fits right into the Castle universe.
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'Where are you?'
The text lights up the smartphone discarded in the cupholder, just one of several that have appeared in the past forty-five minutes. Being late is nothing new. he runs behind with alarming regularity. It's one of the perils of juggling a family and a demanding career.
Ten seconds later, the phone screen glows again. Not enough time has passed for a reminder about an unread text, which means that there's another one. With a scowl, Rick picks the phone up and drags his thumb across the screen. As he types out his reply, he chooses to ignore that he is driving and, therefore, breaking a state law.
Though there is something ironic about that.
'5 minutes.'
The reply is immediate, vibrating the phone shell before it has even left his hand.
'You said that 15 minutes ago.'
Fifteen minutes ago he had been lying. This time he means it.
Being last to the scene means that Rick is forced to park nearly a block away and walk it in, but he prefers it that way. It gives him time to gather his thoughts, to remind himself why he's chosen this job, and to take a moment to remember the person that inadvertently led him here.
Killing the engine of his unmarked cruiser behind a beat up Mustang GT, Rick quickly unbuckles the seatbelt and grabs his jacket from the passenger seat. He keeps his gun stored in the trunk, his badge usually gets tossed in the glove compartment, and Rick snags them both — along with his phone and a pocket-sized notebook — before stepping onto the sidewalk. There are two news crews already on site just down the block, busy setting up live shots for the upcoming late-night newscasts. He passes them without a word.
By the time he approaches the yellow crime scene tape guarded by his fellow officers from the Los Angeles Police Department, the theme from Dragnet is blaring from his pocket.
It would appear that Tom has lost his patience.
"Keep your hair on, I'm here," Rick says by way of a greeting, flashing his badge and ducking under the tape.
"Good, come find me before you see the body. I'm in front of the Chinese restaurant next to the alley entrance," Castle's partner replies, unceremoniously disconnecting the call, but not before Rick hears him ask a witness about any suspicious vehicles in the area.
"Officer…" Rick pauses to look at the name tag of the guy closest to him as he drops his phone back into his jacket pocket, "Ramos. Have a couple of police cars move to block the entrance to the alley. The last thing I want is for our dead body to end up on the nightly news."
The uniform immediately springs into action, apparently happy to have something to do besides guard the perimeter from curious onlookers and tourists armed with a smartphone and Snapomatic account. Rick stays long enough to ensure that another officer will take Ramos' place at the barrier and then, ignoring his partner's request, he heads toward a cluster of cops and a crew from the coroner's office.
Whatever Demming needs to tell him can wait until he's walked the crime scene.
Given the absolute darkness of the alley at night, the group has erected a set of bright work lights that throw sharp shadows where their latest dead body rests. What he sees first is the flash of a woman's bare leg, twisted towards an overflowing dumpster that's giving off the strong smell of Chinese food gone bad, among other foul odors. Several of the crime scene technicians have wisely strapped on masks as they move around cataloging and marking evidence.
Rick's considering asking if they'll let him use a mask when one of the officers steps away, giving him his first view of the victim's face.
Just like that, he's sucker punched.
With her peaches and cream complexion and trailing red hair, she could be Meredith. It knocks the wind out of him, freezing his lungs and leaving Rick wholly unable to draw the next intake of air that he needs. His entire body goes cold with shock, fingers clenching around nothing but the mild March air. Then, Rick's vision blurs so that the dead woman assigned to him doesn't resemble Meredith, she is Meredith.
It's his wife's face that his mind places on top of the victim's, her body lying lifeless and broken at the foot of a dumpster, her pale pink dress stained with blood. Then he blinks, and she's gone. The roaring in his ears ceases, the vice grip around his lungs loosens so he can gulp down some of the putrid air.
This woman isn't Meredith and Rick forces himself to take a second glance at the body to reinforce that point to his traitorous mind. This young woman is wearing a low-cut black shirt and a gold skirt, her unseeing gaze directed towards a night sky devoid of stars.
At the time of her death, Meredith was wearing her favorite dress. Her body found lying face down in an empty parking lot.
Releasing a shaky breath, Rick hears the rapid footsteps coming up behind him, a muttered curse greeting his ears before his partner steps into his line of sight. "Shit, Castle, I told you not to look at the body," Tom Demming scowls, reaching up to run a hand through his already ruffled hair. "You never listen to me."
That much is true. He and Tom have worked together for five years, long enough to establish both a friendship and a solid partnership, but Rick rarely listens to him. Tom's one of the best cops he's ever worked with, carrying the same sort of tenacity and dedication for solving crimes that he has, but Demming's also a by-the-book player that prefers not to take any risks or ruffle too many feathers.
Rick is willing to do whatever it takes, at least within the limits of most laws.
"I'm okay," he replies, "Just took me by surprise is all." It's an extreme understatement, and he can tell from the way Tom's lips twitch that his partner doesn't believe him. Rick doesn't doubt that he also saw the full reaction to their latest murder victim, but Tom is choosing not to bring it up.
Under the circumstances, that's probably for the best.
After a beat of silence, Tom turns towards the scene, gesturing to the body, "Victim's name is Annalise Jenkins. Some unis found her purse tossed in the dumpster. Driver's license, credit cards, cash are all inside. She's missing her cell phone, but she's wearing a pair of diamond earrings that would sell for a lot of money to the right buyer, so we're ruling out a robbery attempt gone south."
"Any witnesses?"
"Not to the murder, but plenty were around when the bus boy from Hung's China Palace came out on his break and found her body. The theatre down the block just finished up a show, so there were at least a couple dozen people milling around that heard him scream, " Demming answers, "I've got some guys looking for security cameras now, see if we'll get lucky and catch someone making the drop."
"You might." The voice that speaks comes from the ground, and it's not until Rick moves past another officer that he notices Mai Kimura. The medical examiner has configured her long, shiny black hair into some complicated, twisty thing at the back of her head, and she's sporting square-framed glasses and hot pink lips that stand out all the more given her all-black outfit.
As she's kneeling by the victim, Rick can't see her feet, but he's sure whatever shoes she's wearing will match her lipstick. They usually do.
"She was killed here in the alley," Mai continues, scribbling furiously on her clipboard as she speaks. "Whoever did this used some sort of cord, and it was pretty quick."
As Rick kneels down on the other side of the victim, Tom heads off to grab a couple of uniforms for some other avenue of the investigation. With nearly an hour advantage in working the scene, he doesn't blame Demming for not sticking around to get a retread of information he already knows. "That means our killer is smart," he sighs, "Aware enough about the risks of trying to kill someone in a semi-public place. Sure, it's an alley, and it's night, but there are businesses still open on this block. People are still out on the streets. You'd want it to be quick, to get in and out without being noticed."
"Strangulation is the best way," Mai adds almost as an afterthought, passing off her clipboard to a waiting lab tech. "You can hide the murder weapon in a pocket or a jacket, wrap it around and give a tug, then you're done. Leave the victim here, walk out through any of these businesses that connect to this alley."
"Blend in with the crowd on the street, just a regular patron out for a late dinner." He hates the tug in his gut; usually, it means his instincts are right. Plus, there's nothing at the scene that indicates a crime of passion or rage.
"I've got two other things you need to know. First, she put up a fight," Mai tells him, carefully lifting Annalise's left hand and tilting her fingers to give Rick a good look. The nails are intricately decorated with glittery, golden stripes layered on a white background, the four remaining nails all chipped and cracked.
Annalise's ring finger, however, is nothing but a bloody stump.
"Officers are looking for her missing finger, but going by the lack of blood," Mai says. "It looks like it was cut off after she died, so I don't expect that we will find it."
"You think the killer took it." It's a statement, not a question.
"I do," Mai replies, taking a paper bag from the kit resting nearby. She gingerly slips it over Annalise's hands and quickly secures the covering with a rubber band. "She's got some bruises and scratches that go with the damage to her fingernails. Our priority when we get her back to the lab is to try and pull DNA from under what's left of them."
"Alright, thanks. We'll be in touch," Rick tells her as he gets to his feet, eyes lingering on the face of Annalise Jenkins, his thoughts orienting back to Meredith. In some ways, he feels every single day of the thirteen years since his wife died, in others, it feels like just yesterday.
The sugary sweet smell of syrup and frying bread are his greeting when he opens the side door. Rick hasn't taken a step into the house before there is a bark and the clattering of claws against the hardwood floor, a sure sign that his dog is on the way to greet him.
Well, technically, it's Alexis' dog; one that she begged for over several months before he finally relented and took her to the local ASPCA chapter on a rainy Saturday afternoon. Of course, she'd picked the loneliest dog in the entire shelter, one that had lived his whole life on the street. Part German Shepherd, part Golden Retriever, and who knew what else, Rick had tried to steer his then-10-year-old daughter to a dog that would be easier to raise and smaller in stature. It hadn't worked, and they had brought the dog — Alexis named him Storm — home with them.
Five years later, he's glad for such a loyal companion. Whether it's himself, Alexis, or his mother, they've all been on the receiving end of cuddles and a pair of ears always willing to listen to the troubles of the day.
"Hey buddy," Rick bends down to give Storm a thorough rub behind the ears that send the dog's tail into a furious wag. "Did you watch over the girls while I was gone? Keep the lady of the house out of trouble?" He gets a nudge to his chin that Rick decides to take as a yes, chuckling softly to himself as he rises to his feet, immediately greeted with an armful of teenager.
"Dad, you're home!" Alexis chirps as she hugs him, already dressed in her school uniform. "I was just about to text you when Gram told me you hadn't gotten back from your call out."
"I'm not here for long," he explains with a sigh, a long list of items that he needs to start working on regarding the case both in his mind and stored on his phone. "I mostly came to take a shower and a nap, shake off the rust before I go back to the station. But something smells amazing, so I think I need to detour to the kitchen….." Rick adds with a grin, slinging an arm over Alexis' shoulders while his daughter steers him in the direction of what his nose has now determined to be french toast.
Sure enough, when they enter the massive kitchen with Storm at their heels there's a heaping plate of egg-battered, cinnamon sprinkled goodness, along with a selection of fruit, eggs, and bacon. His mouth begins to water just from looking at the spread, and his stomach issues a growl loud enough that his mother's best friend, housekeeper, and cook Antonia turns towards the source of the noise.
"Rick, you're here!" she exclaims, scooping up one final fried egg from the pan and depositing it neatly onto another platter. "Martha said she didn't expect you this morning." Before he can explain his reappearance, or even sit down at the kitchen island, Antonia has pulled a plate from a cabinet and placed it at his usual spot.
"I mostly came to take a nap," He decides to forgo coffee so he can get a few minutes of rest when the time comes. Instead, he reaches for the pitcher of orange juice and pours a large glass. "But I can't pass up french toast," Rick adds, accepting the fork Antonia offers before spearing two slices of the meal's main dish.
He's managed to slather the whole thing in syrup and take one giant bite before Alexis speaks up again, the lightest pink flush to her cheeks when she turns to him. "Dad, can I go to the movies tomorrow night?"
It's not a rare question from his kid, but it is rare that she asks while trying to look like it isn't a big deal that she wants to watch a movie with her friends. Even if he weren't trained to recognize the tells that people have, Rick would notice that Alexis is nervous and, most curious of all, trying to hide something from him. But she's also 15, and he remembers all too well the type of things he tried to get away with at that age.
Even worse, Rick remembers the things he did manage to get away with.
"Depends," he answers between bites, flicking his eyes to his kid to gauge her reaction. She gives him nothing. "Who is going with you?"
"My friend Ashley," Alexis answers promptly, which forces Rick to think about his daughter's extensive list of friends. Most of them have names like Paisley and Suri or nicknames like Button and Cookie, but he vaguely remembers an Ashley in the mix.
"Will one of Ashley's parents be going with you to the movie?" he asks, realizing once he's managed to put a face to a name that Ashley is not only Alexis' friend but also one of their neighbors. Her father edits movies and tv shows for a living.
"Yes. Well...sort of…." Alexis' long red hair trails like a waterfall over her left shoulder as she tilts her head in his direction. "We're going to one movie, Ashley's dad is going to another, but they start and end at the same time."
"Will you be home by 10:30?"
"I'll be home before 10, Dad," she sighs, though there's a definite smile hiding at the corners of her mouth. "You know that."
He does know that, and he's forever grateful that the universe gave him the most level-minded kid in the world. She's stubborn and, at times, mischievous, but Rick has never had to worry that Alexis is out doing the things that he's arrested other kids for. "I do," he agrees around a bite of bacon, making sure to swallow before he leans in to press a kiss to her forehead. "So yeah, go have fun at your movie with Ashley. I'll leave some money on your desk."
The grin she gives him is bright enough to light up the room, which means it really must be some movie that she's been waiting to watch for ages. It's probably a book series adapted into a film, something like Harry Potter or The Hunger Games, and likely one that she's been talking about for months. Rick just can't keep up with it all like he used to.
It was much easier when Alexis was six, and her loves were horses, princesses, and Storm Troopers. Now it's violin and ballet, poetry and soccer, fencing and French. She devours books and cares about the environment and cries over popstars like Hayley Blue and some group of boys that he doesn't find that talented, though he'd never admit that to his daughter for risk of breaking her heart.
"Thanks, Dad!" Alexis exclaims to the background noise of Antonia's laughter. She drops a quick kiss to his cheek before finishing off her orange juice and then, for good measure, snatching the bacon he's about to eat from his hand, and stuffing it into her mouth with a big grin.
As Rick yells at his daughter with mock outrage, Alexis mostly ignores him in favor of gathering her backpack from its spot by the door and hugging her grandmother goodbye. With a final wave to him and Antonia, Alexis disappears down the hallway with Storm trailing just behind. As usual, the dog will walk her to the end of the block where she'll join several of her friends for the five-minute trek to Marlowe Academy, the ultra-exclusive prep school that his mother pays an eye-popping amount for her only grandchild to attend.
Rick attended public schools until he reached high school. It was only then that their financial situation allowed a private school, though even that hadn't been near the level of the one Alexis has attended since she was old enough to go.
"Richard, you're here!" Martha is already dressed for her day as well, comfortable but still stylish in a pair of black pants, an emerald green top and layers of jewelry in shades of blue, green, and gold. As she steps further into the kitchen, Antonia passes Martha a cup of coffee to which she responds with a word of thanks and a hug.
Rick doesn't even know how long they have known one another, but Antonia has been around in some capacity for his entire life. At first, she was merely a voice on the phone, then a neighbor in a ratty apartment building in the Valley and a babysitter while Martha worked two jobs and auditioned for roles. Later in life, when the acting jobs kept coming and the paychecks kept growing, Antonia had become his mother's housekeeper.
He's never asked how much Antonia gets paid, but he knows it's been enough for her father to move to Los Angeles from Ecuador in the years leading up to his death and to help put her two kids through college. The relationship between Antonia and his mother is one of the many, many things that leave Rick in awe of Martha, even when her antics and unsolicited advice get on his nerves.
"Yes, I'm here," he parrots with an over the top grin, "You'd think I didn't live here given the level of surprise at my appearance this morning."
"Darling, I'm happy to see you," his mother says with a wave of her hand that ends with a light pat to his cheek. "I just expected you and Thomas to be out working your case and that your breakfast would be a candy bar and a soda from the vending machine."
It easily could have been and, as his mother talks, Rick realizes that his lunch and, very possibly, his dinner could be from the snack machine in the station's break room. With that in mind, he grabs another piece of french toast and two pieces of bacon. "Captain Gates told us both to come home and catch a bit of sleep. We started doing preliminary work last night, but we hit a dead end in interviews, and we couldn't get in contact with the victim's family."
Locating Annalise Jenkins' family was the priority and Rick hoped that none of them lived locally. She had moved to LA from New York, considerably lowering the chances, but there still were no guarantees. They were lucky that last night's news broadcasts hadn't included the name of the dead woman in the alley, but it wouldn't take long for the information to leak. He expected the midday broadcast, at the latest.
Martha nods at his explanation, sipping her coffee and carefully piling fruit into a disposable container. "I've always liked Victoria," she tells him as she closes the box, offering a smile when Rick rolls his eyes. He, too, likes Victoria Gates, but it had taken several years to get to that point. His captain was nothing if not a stickler for rules and protocol; she hadn't earned the nickname 'Iron Gates' for nothing, but her enforcement and love of regulations had gone toe to toe with his unconventional investigation style until, finally, they'd come to an understanding of sorts.
With a glance at her watch, his mother cringes, quickly finishing the coffee in one long swallow and gathering the box of fruit in her hands. "I have to go; I'm going to be late to set. Be careful out there, Richard."
"Always am." It's an exchange as familiar to him as breathing given how often he and his mother have repeated those words to one another since he gave up acting and went into law enforcement. Still, Rick never forgets the meaning behind such simple phrases. His family supports his career, but they also live with the knowledge that one day he might not come home.
There's the distant slam of a door and, a moment later, the hum of a vacuum cleaner toward the front of the house. Rick returns to his breakfast with gusto, ignoring the soft tapping of Storm's feet as he returns to the kitchen and the pitiful look the dog fixes on him while he munches on a piece of bacon.
Once Rick has finished his food, entirely stuffed from the meal and sleepier than ever, he grabs one of the larger pieces of bacon that remain, dropping it at Storm's feet. Naturally, the dog dives right in, and he chuckles, patting the animal on the head before he turns and heads towards the stairs and his bedroom for some shut-eye.
