He winked.
That son of a bitch winked and it confirms everything Castle has been screaming for days; Michael Boudreau is Jerry Tyson and Jerry Tyson is 3XK and now Kate isn't answering her phone and that means they have her. It doesn't matter that the guilty parties were standing in front of him just seconds ago. No, they'd orchestrated the entire crime and ensuing investigation so that they'd have front row seats for his horrific realization. And as Tyson and Nieman descend in the elevator, Castle's heart drops right along with it; he's never wanted to be wrong so desperately.
Logic gone, he attempts to call again, certain now that she won't answer, but unable to stop nonetheless. Her voicemail taunts him, a punishment he deserves for not insisting that she be more careful, that she take back-up. For not convincing every damn person in the precinct that they are being manipulated by a master puppeteer and his scalpel-wielding partner.
He moves even as he presses the phone to his ear, pacing the bullpen and watching Ryan and Espo as they begin to bark orders and coordinate strategies with the uniforms who have quickly gathered around the murder board. Gates slams the door to her office and he notices that she's on the phone, too; he assumes she's not torturing herself with Kate's recording for the seventh time.
You've reached the voicemail of Detective Kate Beckett…
With that, he throws the phone against the nearest wall, momentarily satisfied at the way it crashes to the cold floor, silent and irreparably damaged. Another phone lost to the job, this one arguably his most careless mistake yet. If she tries to call him- Shit. But he's a millionaire and he knows a guy and he can get a new phone within minutes. He only wishes his fortune and charm could get his wife back, too. While using Kate's desk phone to make the necessary arrangements, he watches Ryan and Espo push Gates' door open just wide enough for a quick briefing, then grab their jackets from the backs of their chairs. He abruptly ends his call and nearly trips over himself to follow them.
He's just caught up when Espo speaks, not bothering to turn around. "Do you really think you should be coming with us? We don't know what happened yet, what we're gonna find. Could be another trap."
"You're crazy if you think I'm staying here."
Neither detective expected him to say anything else, both nodding in agreement, Esposito's question a mere formality. There's nowhere for him to be except right behind her team. In fact, with Tyson involved, he may be able to offer more insight than normal; he'll stand at their sides, ready to fight just as fiercely.
They start by driving to where Kate was supposed to be meeting Amy Barrett, still waiting for Tory to track down either woman's cell phone and pull the traffic cams from the intersection. Castle scrambles out of the car before Espo can even turn off the ignition, eyes darting madly through the darkness until he sees Kate's car parked several yards away.
"Over here!"
He gets yanked backward before he can run for the car, Espo's hand wrapped around his shoulder. "Hey, you can't just take off. What if the car's rigged? You getting blown to a million pieces isn't gonna help us find Beckett."
"The car isn't rigged." Castle starts forward again, shouting over his shoulder. "Tyson wouldn't have any fun if my death were that quick. He's still playing his game."
Ryan jogs up to his side, quiet and firm. "Then why play along? Tory's still working on the phones and traffic cams. We'll get someone else to pull cameras from the businesses near the car until we figure out who she's with and where they went. We can refuse to take the bait and we'll get him by doing things our way."
"Listen, you guys do whatever you need to do. Go by the book, follow the orders you get from Gates. I don't care. I'm going to get my wife back, and if that means following any crumbs Tyson's left behind, so be it. He can think he's got the upper hand for now."
"Castle, he does have the upper hand."
He shakes his head at that, knowing it's true but refusing to accept it. He's written these characters before. He's written the bad guys' cunning crimes. And then he's written the perfectly placed clues that allow the heroes to win in the end. Now it's time to write this story.
Ignoring the kind logic and angry argument from the detectives – he knows they are trying, that they love her like a sister – Castle approaches the abandoned car and only glances up and down the street before trying the door. It's unlocked, of course. He slides into the driver's seat, not concerned at all about prints; they already know who is responsible for her disappearance and Tyson's too smart to have left anything like that behind. It's still against procedure, and probably stupid, but he can't find it in him to care. Especially not when he sees the folded piece of paper taped to the car radio.
"What is it, bro?"
He turns his head at Espo's voice, but quickly brings his attention back to the note. Except that it's not a note. Not exactly. It looks like a page from a book.
It's a dedication page.
To my heart, mind, and soul,
Perhaps our life together has been a prologue to this darker tale. One in which the bad guy finally wins.
I'm not sure I can write it any other way.
Esposito takes it from him immediately, but Castle's already got it memorized, the words seared into his mind. And all the times he sat at his desk, searching for the right words for her, needing the perfect way to express his feelings, they all come back to him now. The moments collide in his head, most so clear and a few less so. Handwritten notes, the soft click of the keyboard. The images are fighting for his attention and he wants them gone. He can't live in the past when she needs him present. The memories insist, but he forces them away and looks around the rest of her car.
"There's a leaf here." It rests on the passenger seat, but he doesn't touch it, allowing for at least that much to be done properly. Ryan's on the phone several feet away, so Espo comes around to examine it more closely and call for techs to do a full sweep of the car. The leaf looks common enough, but they'll have the lab run it just in case; if it leads nowhere, Tyson is going to have to drop more obvious hints. The game will end too quickly if there's nothing solid to go on.
Everything else seems normal, so he climbs out of the car just in time for Ryan to end his call. "Okay, so Beckett's cell is still off, so Tory can't get a current location. Same for Amy Barrett's, which was probably a burner anyway. But she did catch them on a traffic cam."
"So where did they go?" He beats Espo to the obvious question, ready to chase whatever lead they've got.
Ryan nods up the street. "They went there, to the subway station. Traffic cams lose them at that point, but Tory pulled the cameras from underground and was able to follow them until they got on the train. She'll comb the footage from the stops after that, but it'll take a while."
Shit. Kate's getting further away by the minute and they're stalled. Unwilling to wait around, he marches toward the station. "Come on, let's retrace their steps. If there were clues left for us here, there may be more along the way."
"You really think he wants to be caught that badly?" Esposito's skepticism is nothing new, but it's pissing him off now. Fortunately, Ryan answers before he can.
"Like Castle said, it's a game. And Tyson doesn't really win if he's playing alone. He'll want to make sure Castle's following him so that he can prove that he's always a step ahead. That he's smarter." Ryan's eyes get wide and he stammers on. "Not that he is smarter. Just that he thinks he is. And hopes to prove it."
Esposito rolls his eyes but continues to follow them, reaching the stairs just behind them as they all hurry down. The familiar stench of the New York subway greets them, but Castle is far too concerned with taking in the visual details of the station to worry about it. He's certain there's something to be found and he doesn't want to waste any unnecessary time in this particular treasure hunt. The three of them make their way past the turnstiles and toward the platform where Kate was last seen, looking around the mostly-empty area, ignoring the screech of the rails as another train approaches.
He looks at the handful of waiting commuters, passes over the homeless man busking from the cold floor, and scans the ads lining the station walls. One of the MTA maps catches his eye and he lingers on it longer than he normally would. It's something he's seen hundreds of times before and it certainly shouldn't interest him more than usual; it's not like he'll be able to pick out Kate's location from the dozens of stops. Still, there's something about it – a déjà vu that can't be explained away by the many visits to stations like this one in his decades as a New Yorker. It's as though he's studied it recently, but he can't recall any reason to have done so. Book research? Perhaps, but now isn't the time to dwell on it.
It's then that he realizes the train has departed, a momentary quiet taking its place. Mostly quiet anyway, save for the distant trains travelling on other tracks, and the homeless man still slouched against the wall several feet away, wrapped in a shabby wool coat and playing his harmonica. The strains of the song are reaching Castle now and he freezes, willing himself not to be sick. His mouth opens, but he can't quite form the words, grasping at Ryan's arm instead.
"What is it, Castle? Do you see something?"
He shakes his head, summoning his voice from where it's still trapped. "The song."
Espo looks unimpressed. "From the homeless dude?"
"Yes, it's a message from them." He swallows hard and tries again, needing them to understand how important this is. "Nieman gave it to us before, on a USB drive hidden in a pen. It's 'We'll Meet Again' by Vera Lynn."
"Creepy." Ryan noticeably shudders while Castle suppresses the urge to do the same.
They move over to the guy, both detectives appearing eager to force an impromptu interrogation; Castle is far more interested in the man's hat. Or rather, the note that someone has pinned to it. He doesn't even need to reach for it to know exactly what it is, but he still needs the words printed upon it, so he squats down and brings his hands up gently, uninterested in spooking the blameless pawn. Once he's unfastened the piece of paper from the material, he stands and unfolds it.
Another dedication page.
A/N: My wonderful wife whispered this story idea in my ear and I practically tripped over myself for the chance to write it. It's a departure from my typical fics and a huge challenge, but I'm looking forward to having some of you join me on this little adventure.