The Picture

Chapter 1

The Flushing Line

A ride on the subway can take you from point A to point B, end of story. But for some, it can be more than that. It takes about 30-minutes to ride the Flushing Line from Main Street in Queens to mid-town Manhattan. Many of the riders read, listen to music, map out their day, play games on their phones, or just stare blankly out the windows. The train to some is a mothers arms lulling them into a half-sleeping state of mind, calming them just before first contact with the day.

But for some the Flushing line would be much more than the commuter ride to work. For a number, the unseen hand of fate was molding their lives. Some would play a large role, others a small part, but all were essential in this real life drama. None would escape the force moving them toward their destination.

Years from now, the players, when looking back on the events that shaped them so radically, will know with certainly that it all begin in the last car of Line number 7, in 2009.

Orletha Anderson was a 68-year-old African-American care giver. She always moved to the end of the platform to board the train for work. The 30 minute ride from Queens was an important part of her daily ritual. She knew a number of riders and they shared themselves with her. She relished in her subway clan. For her it was a mobile version of the Canterbury Tales. The daily interaction made her heart race a bit. She knew their names, some of the children's names. She held court at the back of the rear car. Calling out to them, asking them to come sit with her, to bring her up to date on their worlds. The invitees shared a great affection for the diminutive woman.

On this day she saw him board. He was dressed in his usual, which she called his "rebel garb." She knew he worked in a firm of high-powered accountants, helping the rich keep as much as possible and out of trouble with the State of New York and the IRS.

He was slightly overweight, his dark blazer a bit tight. His blue shirt and tie somewhat worn. She'd never seen the tie properly tightened against the collar. The shirt had never been to the dry cleaners. It was starch free, wash and wear, which was an oxymoron, it needed to be pressed, but this one was straight out of the drier, well almost.

The Levi's were also worn and the penny loafers needed to be polished. Across his shoulder was the old worn leather shoulder brief case he always had with him. It had a large flap with buckles to keep things contained, as usual it was failing at its mission. The sleeve of a pink sweater was hanging out. Orletha laughed to herself, his daughter would be without her sweater on this chilly November day.

"Ricky, Ricky, come sit with me!" She called out as he turned to face her.

Normally he would cringe at being called Ricky, let alone in public, but Orletha was the exception. For her it was a term of endearment and he could not, or would not resist such affection.

Walking towards her he smiled, in his shy way, his blue eyes dancing, "Orletha how are you today?" He bent forward and kissed the top of her head.

"I'm good, and now better with you here." Patting the seat next to her.

She pointed at his brief case and the sweater spilling out, "She's probably gonna need that today." He groaned.

"Some days I scare myself. I told her to be sure and get it, and here it is, in my bag. I hope she's got her other one." Brow sagging over his error.

"So how is your sweet thing?"

"She doing great Orletha, she's always such a gift to me."

"You know, she's the joy of my life." Forgetting the sweater and beaming about his daughter.

"Yes, I do know that?" Pausing, but only for a second.

"But tell me Ricky, have you found the other love of your life?"

"Orletha, are you hitting on me?" He feigned surprise at this, oft-repeated line of question by his friend.

"No, I'm just worried about you!" Now turning to face him more squarely.

"I know you love your daughter, but let me assure you, they grow up, move on and have their own lives. Suddenly you're 40 or 45 years old and you're alone. That can't be fun at all, and I certainly don't want that for you."

"I know, it's just...that I'm busy with her life and activities, and my stuff. There's no time for love."

"You my son are wrong! Love never takes away from life, it only adds to it." Wagging her finger at the bookkeeper.

They chatted on, not seeing the tall dark-haired woman sitting mid-car watching and listening. If Orletha had noticed her, she would have bid her attendance at the back the car to. The detective just smiled at the exchange, she'd heard it before.

XX

Kate Beckett rode the Flushing line each day. She hoped that one day she could afford to live in Manhattan, but that was an expensive proposition. She didn't mind the ride each day, but thought how great it would be to have an extra hour.

She'd slipped out of her apartment quietly. Her boy-friend had spent the night and was still sleeping. He'd arrived very late due to a long shift at the hospital, as an up and coming surgeon he was in demand. She didn't see him as much as she'd liked, between murder and his ER duties, they struggled to find time for each other.

She entered the 12th Precinct before anyone else arrived. She'd been partners with Robert Flynn for two years, the rest of the team included Javier Esposito and Kevin Ryan. Robert, or Bob as he preferred to be called, had been out on disability for six months after tripping over a tire stop in a parking lot and tearing his rotator cuff. Recovery had been slow and painful and Beckett had wondered if Bob would ever be released to full duty. It frightened her that one miss step, a simple tripping, could undo your career so unexpectedly. Everyone knew they could be shot, but tripping was not on anyones worry list, at least until Bob's event.

She made her way to the coffee machine, which she believed was secretly supplied with bilge water, making it the worst coffee on the planet.

Things had been quiet the last few days and there were a number of unsolved cases to work. The people, the survivors of those cases had waited long for a word, for reassurance that someone was working on their case. The hope that someone was still looking for the killer of their forever lost loved one.

Beckett liked the first 48 hours of a homicide case when things were intense, clues fresh and leads abounded. In that window of time, she felt like a bloodhound hot on the scent. It always made her blood run fast. But today there were no bodies to report, so she'd turn her attention to those still waiting, those left on the long cold trail.

She picked at the stack of cases on her desk. She would normally check for any new information, hoping maybe a new witness had come forward or something in forensics popped up and overlapped with another case.

Lilly Francine was the one at the bottom of the stack. The others had yielded nothing new.

Lilly was a twenty-three year old bank teller. Beckett remembered when the call came in nearly a year ago. The crime scene had been surreal. The body was laying face down on the floor, just feet from the door the woman must have opened to someone she knew.

Lilly's door had three locks which had to be opened to allow entry. She also had installed a wide-angle peep-hole which meant anyone standing near her door could be seen from inside. Which meant only one thing, she knew the killer, and he or she had been invited in, killed, and then slipped into the night.

The forensic unit had swept the apartment with great care. Nothing came up, not a hair, or a fiber, nothing. The body was taken to the ME, but other than defensive wounds also yielded nothing.

Dr. Lanie Parrish had concluded, based on the single wound that Lilly had open the door and stepped back. The guest closed the door and as the victim turned away the killer, had flung the wire over her head, and jerked. The first, and deepest cut, was on the right side of her neck. Then the killer adjusted by stepping behind and pulling against her throat. There were finger nail cuts on her neck where she tried in vain to get beneath the wire. The doctor found that based on the angle of the wire cut, the perp was taller than Ms. Francine.

Ryan and Esposito had questioned all the bank employees, the young woman was well liked. She opened new accountants, did some customer service work and reviewed on-line payments for the bank. Essentially monitoring debits and deposits. She'd only been with the bank for slightly over two years.

In reviewing her personnel file there was not a single complaint from a customer or co-worker. Her private life was squeaky clean. She'd graduated from college with a degree in non-profit organizations. She taken a couple of computer courses after college to keep up to speed on her tech skills. She'd never had a parking ticket.

When Beckett interviewed the family, they'd given glowing accounts of their daughter and sister. Someone from the family had called every month for the past year, she'd given them the same report. Nothing had changed, there were no new leads, but she would not give up.

At the end of the day Beckett was exhausted by reading and re-reading the files that again led her back to the same dead ends. But it was Lilly's file that hit her the hardest. It made her angry that neither she nor her team could find anything to give them traction to get the case closed.

XX

At 6:45 pm Beckett boarded the Seven to the Broncs. On auto pilot she made her way to the last car and stepped in as the doors open. It was a little less crowded by this time, those whose days ended at 5:00 pm or even 6:00 pm were long gone.

She plopped in the first seat she could find.

"Katie, Katie!" She turned to the sound, it was Orletha, looking tired but smiling none the less.

"Come sit by me girl."

Beckett was too tired to move, let alone talk, but she'd never refuse Orletha. She made her way to the womans side.

"Orletha what are you doing out at this time of the day?" Beckett asked with concern.

"I thought you're suppose to be done by 3:30 or 4;00, at the latest?"

"I am, but life gets in the way of schedules. You know that."

Anyway, the Misses was running late, and I know the children are old enough to stay alone. But..."

"But what Orletha?" Kate smiled at her friend.

"But they're like my own, I can't leave them. So I waited until their Mom got home." She said sheepishly.

"Plus it gave me a chance to make them a little something to eat."

"I'll bet." Beckett laughed, knowing from other conversations that Orletha was a wonderful cook.

"Katie, don't distract me! I need to talk to you, and not about my work schedules."

"We've been riding this train back and forth for more than three years. And I have to say, I've looked at a lot riders, and ..."

"No 'ands' Orletha! I know where this is going."

"Katie, you are the most beautiful rider on this train, don't even try to deny it."

"But Katie, you look so forlorn, so beat down...and that hurts me."

"Orletha, I'm not beat down, just real tired." But she sighed and looked away briefly.

"Sometimes the cases just get to me. It's like they sink a hook into me and won't let go." She didn't say anything for a few beats and again stared out the window as the city lights sped by.

Beckett felt a hand on hers and startled, she turned to Orletha who leaned close and spoke softly, "Are you OK?"

Beckett remained silent.

"Katie, have you told me about this one?"

Beckett released another sigh, partly about being called Katie, which she hated, except when spoken by her Dad and Orletha. But there was something soothing in the name coming from them. It squeezed at her heart and she imagined herself a child in the arms of a parent after a hard fall and then letting them rock away the hurt.

"I think so, it was about a year ago, a young teller."

"Remind me a bit." Orletha implored gently.

"She worked at a bank, and we got the call she'd been murdered. We did our best and came up with nothing. I was working on the case again today. I just feel we've missing something but I can't see it."

"Her family calls every month, I want to give them something, some hope...I just can't find anything."

"And what do you think you might have missed?"

"My gut tells me it's connected to her work. You know the old follow-the-money thing."

"But honestly Orletha we've scoured the records, and there's just nothing there."

"Sorry Honey, I wish I could help, but I'm a care-taker, you're out of my league on that kinda stuff. But you'll figure it out Katie, you always do." Orletha beamed at her, it made Beckett smile.

"So how's your handsome doctor these days?"

"He's good. He's on a trip with Doctors Without Borders, he should be home soon."

As the train pulled into Beckett's station she turned to her friend, "Gotta go Orletha, thanks for the ear, you always cheer me up."

XX

Richard Castle liked Fridays. He got to dress down, even more than usual. At work he normally sequestered himself in his office for a day of digging. Financial records held many secrets, they told stories about the firm's clients. He knew people would try to hide things in life. His job was to find those things.

He had come to believe he could learn more from a persons records than from what they told his employer in a financial meeting. He wanted only two things of the firms clients; their deposit/withdraw record for the last year and, a list a of the last ten books they'd read. He figured with these two items, he could find the soul of the client. Where they spent their money told him about their hearts and where they hid it, told him about their souls.

His job was to two fold, detect and protect. If he could figure it out, so could an auditor or an IRS agent.

Castle had graduated from Washington University in accounting, but never passed the state CPA test to be licensed. Life had intervened.

His girlfriend gotten pregnant, but after their daughter was born, found her calling was to the stage and not domesticity. The marriage was short-lived after Castle caught her on the casting couch, which was actually their bed, with his daughter asleep in the other room. He wanted to strangle both her and the loser she was bedding down.

He'd tried to prepare for the State exam, but there was just so much to be done. Raising a child alone was not an easy task. There was no question, she was the apple of his eye, he loved her and never felt a loss over his meager economic status. After all, they had each other.

It was common knowledge at the office that Castle could find anything. He'd gained the reputation of a financial sleuth. Numbers were his thing. They spoke to him, they gave up secrets. His title was bookkeeper but his job was to ferret out the secrets, regardless of how the firm billed his time. He was the firewall between their clients and the auditors, stealing from a book title, he liked to call those who chased his clients, The Barbarians at the Gates.

His daughter Alexis was fifteen. He was of course very protective of her. If he'd been rich, he would have sent her to a private school, but there just wasn't enough money. Still she had done well in the public school system. The teachers there were dedicated to their calling. They loved to see their students flourish. Alexis was smart, worked hard and caught the attention of those who taught her. They encouraged her to keep at it, telling her that her efforts would pay off.

This Friday, she was going by another students house to drop off part of a joint project. She'd meet her Dad at the subway station and go into the City with him.

He stood at the platform with two Starbucks cups in his hands when the phone chirped. He sat down the coffee and read the text, Dad, go on without me, Traci didn't get her part of the project done, we're going to work her at here house. Her Mom's home for the day. XX Lex.

He sighed and boarded the train. He'd call her from the City.

As he looked for a seat, he heard Orletha call out. "Ricky!" He turned seeing his friend seated in the back of the car. She was holding court. She waved him over.

The seat on her left was empty, the one on the right was occupied by the woman Kate, or Katie as he'd heard Orletha call her.

Orletha patted the empty seat. Sitting he said, " I'd kiss you on the head, but I'm afraid I'll spill coffee on you."

"You drinking two at time Ricky? Bad night?" She beamed at him.

He laughed, "No Alexis was going to meet me , but her plans changed."

"Ricky I want to introduce you to Katie?" Each leaned forward enough to look across Orletha and said polite hellos.

"Do either of you ladies drink fufu coffee, some double shot fat-free vanilla thing my daughter loves."

"Oh no Ricky, I'm a tea person."

"And you Katie?" He asked.

"Ah, it's Kate, and I love coffee, and especially with vanilla."

"We'll Kate, it's either you or I'll 86 it."

"No, no don't do that!" As she accepted the coffee from him. He heard an audible moan after she took the first sip.

"That, good?" He asked.

"Ooh, just wonderful! This is going to be a great day." Both smiled at her comment.

"Katie," interrupted Orletha, "I've been thinking about your teller case, and I thought Ricky might be able to help you."

"I'm not sure how that's possible." Her expression was one of caution.

"Well, Ricky is a numbers sorta guy. Why don't you two go over there and sit, get acquainted and let him tell you what he does for a living."

"Ricky, don't be Mr. Humble-pie, tell her the truth."

Both knew they were being dismissed and said quick farewells to Orletha, then found other seats.

He spoke first, "It's Rick not …"

"Not Ricky." she laughed, "I understand, she's the only one on the planet that calls me Katie, except for my Dad."

He laughed along with her. "She's a special lady. She can call me anything she wants, as long as I get to visit with her." He turned to look at Orletha talking away with her next guest.

Kate liked the look in his eyes as he stared at Orletha. It revealed the deep respect he had for this wonderful lady.

"Kate, I'm sorry if she foisted me onto you back there. I'm not sure what Orletha was talking about, I'm apparently not on a need-to-know-basis."

Kate started laughing again, this time at the bewilderment in his voice.

"Let me tell you a little, first, my name is Kate Beckett, I'm a detective with the 12th Precinct. She reached out her hand to shake.

"I'm Richard Castle, I'm a bookkeeper with Anderson & Webb, I do...well number hunting for them."

"Tell me about your, what did you call it? Number hunting?" She looked intently at him.

"I review financial records of our clients and look for things..."

"Things?" Her eye brows raised.

"Yeah, things, you know deviations, anomalies...stuff that's, well, out-of-place."

"No, I don't know. What does that mean?

He smiled and hummed, "Where to begin?"

"Mr. Castle, I try to solve murders. I don't care about immigration, contracts, taxes, IRS, auditors." She stopped, "You get my point. If you're afraid to say something because I'm a cop, don't be."

"Please don't call me Mr. Castle, Rick or just Castle, but no Mister." He looked away, appearing shy under her intent gaze.

"OK, Castle, tell me again what you do." All business now.

They talked for the next few minutes and then the train arrived at Grand Central. It was evident there was more to this conversation. He suggested, "There's a McDonald's just down the street, near 5th Avenue, I'm running early today, if you have a few minutes we can talk a little more."

"Sure, I have time," Beckett said, knowing she was already late, but, he might actually be able to help her on the case. Plus she was impressed with his easy way of explaining things and his calm mannerisms was something she didn't encounter very often. She liked it, she'd take the time.