Ghost on the Canvas
by Sandiane Carter and chezchuckles
AU : Assuming all things are equal, the watch is for the life she saved; the ring is for the life she lost; but the bracelet is for the life she misses.
"He used her cell phone, and then he left it on so we could trace it." The bitterness fills Kate's mouth.
Gloria Rodriguez, just a maid from a nice hotel in midtown. Kate is squatting beside the crime scene and chewing on the inside of her cheek, furious and impotent at the same time. She holds the identification up to the glare from the SUV's headlights, weariness keeping her from rising.
"Found a slug," Shaw saws, her flashlight inspecting the blood and brick. Kate needs to call Esposito and have the crime scene boys get out here, start working the scene.
"Letter etching?" Castle stands behind her; she can see the dark lines of his shadow thrown across the alley.
"No, it looks clean."
The longer Kate sits here, bowed by this woman's death, the less likely it is that they find this guy. She needs to get up.
"The other murders were planned," Shaw continues slowly; Kate can see her wheels turning. "This one was done out of anger, wanting to be in control."
"All because I lived," she says heavily, wanting to close her eyes against it but afraid that will reveal nightmares she can't face right now.
"You can't blame yourself for that."
Gloria Rodriguez was someone's loved one, maybe even someone's mother. Gloria deserves more from Kate than self-pity, or paralyzing guilt, but she's having a hard time standing up and dealing with this case.
"How. . .did he know you lived?"
Kate glances up, her heart kicking back into gear. "He was watching." Her mouth goes dry and she stands. "At the aftermath."
"Everything about this guy's profile tells me he was watching at the other crime scenes."
"Yeah, but the first thing we did was compare crime scene photos." Kate clenches her fists at her side. They've already done this, already gone over this ground before. How does this help them? Gloria Rodriguez is dead now. She should call Esposito.
"Yeah, I know. We ran them through facial recognition." Jordan is shaking her head at Kate, eyes closed as if she can think better if she doesn't have to look at Kate's doubt. "I know he was there."
Castle moves past Kate, stepping around her, getting in on the FBI action. "He wouldn't *be* in the crowd; he'd know that's where we'd look."
"No, he hides in plain sight. He's a chameleon." Shaw and Castle, giving each other googly eyes as they build theory. Kate sets her jaw. "We didn't see him in the crowd, because he was dressed as one of us."
That smug, I've got it look on Shaw's face is Kate's last straw. "That's all fine and good, but what about Gloria Rodriguez? You said yourself that this was a crime of anger, unplanned. That means he'll have been sloppy; he might have left us good forensics. If we focus on her, this might be our break."
Castle steps closer to Shaw. "We could go back to the crime scene photos. Use your facial recognition software on the cops, the emergency responders. I mean, Beckett's place alone was crawling with guys I've never seen before."
Shaw nods. "The FBI guys are all my team; I'm pretty certain I'd have noticed someone out of place. But we'll still check-"
Kate, ignored and teetering back on the edge of hysteria, pulls out her phone, undamaged in the blast thanks to her otter case. She needs to call Esposito. "You're wasting time here. We need to get this crime scene worked up. We're already losing-"
Shaw jerks her head back to Kate. "The focus of my investigation is always this guy, Detective. We have a shot at getting a good look at his face, and that will give us an ID. In minutes. You want to work this crime scene? Fine. But I'm not."
Shaw starts heading back for the SUV, her heels clicking. Kate watches her a moment, then sees Castle passing her out of the corner of her eye.
"Castle!"
"She's right, Beckett. We need to get this guy yesterday. She has a good idea. I'm going with her. What about you?"
Her hands clench over the phone. "Leave me here. I'll ride back with Esposito."
"Alone?" Castle says, hesitating between the headlights of the SUV. Shaw has restarted the engine. "After all this?"
"I'll be fine. Go." Kate lifts the phone to her ear and waits for Esposito to pick up. "I am armed, you know." His hand flutters back at the SUV, gesturing to Shaw; Kate hears her team on the other end. "Esposito, got a crime scene for ya."
The SUV idles. Castle is still beside her. "At least wait until the guys get here," he yells back to Shaw. There's an edge to voice.
Kate turns her back so he doesn't see the emotion in her eyes. "Yeah, Espo, we traced the number. We got another body."
The writer – bless him – insists that they stop for coffee on the way back to the precinct, even in the face of Jordan's disapproval and her comment that every second matters. Beckett keeps silent, mindful of her image since it was only this morning that she had to convince Shaw of keeping her on the case, but the smell of coffee when Castle comes back is so heavenly that she almost wants to cry.
Wow. She really needs sleep.
Coffee will have to do, however. Kate waits until the car stops at a red light to take a careful sip, absorbed in the warmth and the deliciousness of the liquid as it goes smoothly down her throat. Unlike Shaw's decision to focus on Not-Conrad. She lets out a silent sigh.
She feels Castle's eyes on her without even casting a glance towards the back seat, but she doesn't remark on it. His coffee is a life-saver right now, and for once she doesn't mind letting him know. Hell, not so long ago, Castle himself was playing the role of life-saver.
Okay, not going there.
And life-saver or not, she cannot take the questions he keeps asking Shaw, the ideas he throws at her, like Kate herself is no good anymore, outdated. Some irony it is, that she's been avoiding any sort of personal relationship with the writer because she's scared of how fast he would move on. Turns out he can move on from her professionally too, after all. And it hurts every bit as much.
More, maybe.
The detective closes her eyes against the conversation that she isn't a part of, trying to shut out their voices.
"You okay?" Shaw asks in that focused, businesslike tone that doesn't exactly make you want to spill your guts out.
"Yeah, fine," Kate answers after a beat. They all know it's a lie, but what other answer can she give?
She hears Castle move in the back seat, as if to get a better view of her. She can't deal with him right now, with his hovering, and she resolutely stares through her window, fingers tightening on her cup.
The rest of the ride is silent, much to her relief. Even so, loneliness and exhaustion mingle with the taste of coffee on her tongue, ruin Kate's earlier pleasure.
It's going to be a long day.
"You got a better idea? Cause I'm all out."
Castle watches Kate as she rails at him. In the overlarge NYPD windbreaker, she looks small and broken, but still trying valiantly to rally. Under his fingers, he can feel the thick edge of a crime scene photo.
His arm is killing him, his shoulder aches from breaking down her door. The palms of his hands have blistered where the burning door came in contact with his skin. And Beckett is yelling at him.
Yeah, he and Shaw have this good thing going, building theory and figuring out Not-Conrad's steps. It's good, it feels really good to actually get somewhere on this, to do something after Kate's apartment was bombed. He needs to get this guy, not just because it's another case, but because, like Kate just yelled at him, it's personal.
"All of his first victims: the personal injury lawyer, the dog-walker, the taxidermist; they all link back to the death of Ben Conrad's dog," Shaw says, walking around the table to confront Kate.
Castle stands up straighter, that rush of story singing in his veins as Shaw builds the idea before them.
"How could our killer have known all the players in someone else's life?"
Exactly. Exactly! "He must've known Ben Conrad," he interjects. And Shaw turns back to him with that same dawn of understanding in her eyes. Yes. Yeah. Exactly it.
"So that's where we start," Shaw agrees, giving him a congratulatory look, then turning back to Beckett. "We treat Ben Conrad as the first victim in this case."
Kate seems to see the logic in it now, he thinks. She's got that case-cracking-wide-open look in her eyes: a look more amazing than Shaw's, less crafty, more. . .awed. Like a kid.
"And then we find out where he intersected with our killer," Kate says triumphantly. It's both apology to him and a renewal of energy, Castle thinks. Hopes.
"All right, I'll get my team to start a work-up of Conrad's personal history. Grunt work, really, so Beckett, you and Castle take this time to. . .get cleaned up." Shaw gives Kate a raised eyebrow and a thorough up and down.
Castle feels like protesting, but if he does, Kate won't leave either. Kate should leave.
"I'm good-" Kate starts.
"FBI orders," Shaw says, and tosses Kate a wave of her hand as she exits the conference room, yelling over her shoulder. "Don't make me kick you off this case."
Castle glances to Beckett, watches her spine slump just a little. "You should. . .shower. Do you have clothes to change into?"
She gestures to the bullpen. "In my desk." Castle watches her set her jaw again and glance at Shaw's retreating back. "You and Jordan Shaw are pretty close there, Castle."
Close? "She makes sense. She's smart about this. And she didn't just get her place blown up."
"You think I can't do my job just because-"
"No!" Castle starts towards her, but she steps back. "That's not what I meant."
Kate's hair, still in the french braid he fumbled through in the ambulance, frames her face, highlights the depth of the lines, the smooth, sharp planes on her cheekbones, the shadows. Living in the shadows.
She rolls her shoulders under the jacket and shakes her head. She looks like she's going to cry, and that makes Castle fumble towards her.
"Beth is my sister," she says suddenly, turns her head to stare him down.
She's exhausted and beautiful. How does she do that? "Beth is. . .?"
Kate brushes her hand away, as if to indicate some far off place. "Not here. She's something of a nomad."
"Do you know where she lives now?"
"The last postcard I got from her. . .France. But who knows."
"Kate, you don't have to tell me," he says roughly. He can't help reaching out to tug on her jacket, trying to bring her closer. She stumbles a bit, but holds her ground.
"I should tell you. It's not a secret-"
"Coulda fooled me."
She glares at him, but her spine is straighter. "Beth is my younger sister. She and I. . .don't always get along. She's kinda the black sheep of the fam-" She stutters to a stop, squeezes her eyes shut. "The family."
Oh. Castle closes his hand over her shoulder and tugs harder, gets her enough off-balance that she comes into his embrace this time. Her shoulders rise and fall under his grip, but she's silent.
So her sister is the black sheep, her sister. . .what? Didn't react to their mother's death the way Kate expected her to? Turned to drugs and wild living in her grief? Something's there, he can tell by the set of her shoulders, the struggle over her face; there's a story to this.
And then she steps back from him. "I need to call my dad. The explosion will be all over the news."
"We have a few hours before the morning news," Castle says. He wishes she'd tell him more, but getting private information out of Kate Beckett requires limitless patience and careful planning. "You can stay with him?"
"Of course," Kate says, her face masked in a frown.
"Really? You'll really stay with your dad? Because you can come with me-"
"No. No," she shakes her head at him and backs further away. "I'm good. I'll shower and stuff here, and then call him."
Castle rubs at his face, the stubble like grains of sand under his palm. "I need a shave. And Alexis keeps texting me."
Beckett's eyes close briefly; she sways and he reaches out and catches her. Kate brings her arms up and breaks his grip. "Go home, Castle. I should've-" She shakes her head at him again. "Go home, see Alexis."
He doesn't want to leave. Suddenly, he doesn't want to leave her alone, not even for a second. But she's got to call her dad, and he needs to be a good father right now himself and get home.
And he knows how much comfort a dad can bring. She'll make it. She will.
"In a few hours, then?"
"You can take your time-"
"A few hours, Kate."