Chapter 3: Calls
Captain Victoria Gates, called "Iron Gates" by some but never within her earshot, was sitting at her desk reviewing printouts of case volumes, status reports, and closure statistics, for both her 12th Precinct and the other NYPD precincts within the borough. Gates hadn't once been the fastest woman to ever make detective by being outworked by her competition. True, she didn't find the paperwork and other administrative duties as interesting in the same ways as she did her previous work as a detective or an Internal Affairs investigator, but that didn't mean she still wasn't outworking her competition for a future at 1PP. That meant Gates' typical day started at her desk no later than 45 minutes before the morning shift change.
Gates was thirty minutes into her review, penciling in notes and questions for follow-up, when her concentration was disturbed by the ringing of her office phone. Looking up, she read the Caller ID display. Her lips twisted in annoyance as she reached and hit the speaker button.
"You've misdialed, Mr. Castle," Gates answered in a flat, distracted tone, as she returned her attention to productivity comparisons between precincts.
After a few seconds with no response, Gates spoke again. "Am I keeping you from something by answering your call?"
Castle started, and sought to make amends. "I'm sorry Captain, didn't hear you answer. I was finishing up something else. A lot to do today."
Gates bristled at the implication that her time was less valuable. "As do I. Perhaps we should both hang up and get on with our days."
Gates didn't like him to begin with and he needed to get this conversation back on track, if his plan had any hope of success.
"I apologize, Captain, but I need just a few moments of your time. Have you seen Detective Beckett this morning?"
Gates looked at her phone, sighing heavily and giving it the scowl that would have been directed to the caller had he been there in person. "Mr. Castle, I'm going to hang up now so you can call her . . ."
"Please sir, this is very important. You'll find it well worth the couple of minutes I need."
Gates peered over the tops of her glasses, through the blind slates of her office windows, into the bullpen, and took a good look. "I haven't seen her this morning."
"Good, I'm not too late." Castle paused, and the slightly shuddering intake of air Gates heard Castle take would later remind her of someone about to dive into cold water. He spoke in a rush. "The suspect in the Orlando Costas murder was also the shooter at Captain Montgomery's funeral."
"Excuse me?" Gates replied, all traces of the previous disinterest in her voice gone, as she picked up the phone's receiver. Over the last year Castle had observed Gates use that expression to convey any one of multiple messages, depending on the inflection given and the context when used. Sometimes she used it to elicit more information from the speaker, other times to give herself an extra few seconds to process what she had heard, and, of course, at times because she simply hadn't heard what had been said. Then there were the times when she used it to convey a severe adverse reaction to what she'd heard, a form of challenge daring the person to repeat what had been said. Castle dismissed the more pleasant possibilities due to the drop in temperature he could feel through the phone.
Castle answered her implied challenge with more information. "Late yesterday the DNA lab test on the skin tissue taken from under Costas' fingernails came back, and it matched the DNA taken from the rifle used to shoot Beckett. No question, and no other match."
It was Gates' turn to take a deep breath, though this was the kind taken while counting to ten. "So you're telling me that the person that killed Orlando Costas also shot Detective Beckett, is that right?"
"Yes, that's what I'm saying."
"Hmmm. Is Detective Beckett aware of the match?" Gates asked, the control and silk in her voice at odds with the dangerous undercurrent in her question.
Castle had anticipated that Gates would go immediately to that question, and he had been wrestling with how not to answer her. An affirmative answer from him might end Beckett's advancement within the NYPD, or maybe even get her fired. He decided to play to his strength, and hopefully avoid Gates asking more questions he wasn't prepared to answer. "You know, I'm fuzzy on that point. I think the report came in real late in the day and ah, I didn't stay long yesterday, and I've been really distracted this week because tonight is Alexis' high school graduation and she's supposed to speak . . ." Castle stopped talking and was met with silence. However, he had watched Beckett draw information out of many suspects by being quiet, so Gates' silence wasn't unexpected. Still, it was a bit unnerving.
The silence was also useful. Taking advantage of the momentary break, Castle used to his free hand to reach out to a second cell phone, check the final versions of a couple of messages one last time, and hit "Send."
Realizing that Castle wasn't going to fill the silence, Gates spoke, this time in a lighter, more questioning tone. "Well, do you know if anyone on her team is aware?"
Castle wasn't about to implicate Esposito or Ryan either. "The report came in late, so I, ah, couldn't say."
"Uh-huh. 'Couldn't say'," Gates repeated, drawing out the "couldn't" to emphasize she had noted its use.
During her conversation with Castle, the Captain had continued looking out into the bullpen, and she was now watching Beckett taking determined strides through the Precinct. Gates could see that she was headed toward a conference room. The room had its blinds shut, but Gates had already decided that Esposito and Ryan were in there, so whatever might be going on, was continuing not 50 feet away. She knew she needed to get to that conference room. However, she also wanted an in-person opportunity to question the writer about the Costas investigation soon.
Adopting a more conciliatory tone that Gates hoped would help her achieve both, Gates sought to wrap up the call quickly. "Mr. Castle, thank you for the call and the information. I do believe the two of us will need to talk further about this. What time can I expect you in the office this morning?"
Castle mentally concluded Gates question by adding 'said the Spider to the Fly.' "That brings me to the second reason for calling. Please consider this call the termination of my consulting position with the NYPD."
"Excuse me?" This time the expression was used by the Captain to provide some time to process news she never thought she'd hear.
"I know the documents I signed when I started probably have some more formal notice process. Most of the contracts I've signed do. I'll have my attorney take a look and send whatever's technically required by the end of the day. But with this call, I'm officially done at the 12th Precinct. Captain, I know my presence was forced upon you, and I apologize that's the way it happened. I hope at some point you came to see my contributions to the team were a greater benefit than my presence was a burden to you or the rest of the Precinct. Outside of my daughter, consulting at the 12th has been the best, most important thing I've done with my life. It's truly been an honor."
Gates was so taken aback by both the news and then the sincere emotion she heard in Castle's voice, that the anger that had been building was momentarily forgotten. "Thank you Mr. Castle, I'll accept that on behalf of the Precinct, and make sure to pass that along. Can you share with me why you're leaving now?" Gates had hesitated before asking the question, wanting to get to the conference room where Beckett and team were, but she was genuinely curious and thought his answer might provide some insight that could be immediately useful when Gates got to the conference room.
Castle gave the Captain the call's first completely honest answer, knowing what had happened and what was to come. "I believe if I haven't already overstayed my welcome, I will have shortly. No one wants to force a host to tell them the party's over and it's time to leave. Believe me, for me it wouldn't be the first time."
"I'm sure I don't understand why you think that, so maybe that can be another topic of our next conversation. I trust you've already told Detective Beckett and her team?"
"Beckett knows. I'm sorry Captain, I won't take any more of your time and really, I have a busy day in front of me. I promise that if tomorrow you want me to come in and talk, I will. I'll owe you that." There was a lengthy pause, and Gates thought Castle was done but just before she could get off the phone, Castle had a final message. "Sir, I'm trusting you to do your duty. Please don't fail her."
Gates was now more confused, plus a bit offended by the implication that she might not do what her job required. But fail her? Presumably 'her' meant Beckett, but fail the detective how? "Mr. Castle, what the hell is going on?"
"Thank you so much for taking this call." The line went dead in Gates' ear.
A few minutes earlier, and fifty feet away from Gates' office, Beckett charged into the conference room where Esposito and Ryan had set up, blinds drawn in hopes of avoiding Gates' attention.
Ryan glanced around, and was perplexed. He didn't see Castle, and he'd been inseparable from Beckett during the Costas investigation. "Where's Castle?"
"He's off the team," Beckett replied in a tone that didn't brook any follow-up questions.
Ryan and Esposito exchanged an apprehensive look, quickly enough that Beckett didn't have to take note of it.
Beckett got right to it, with the same flat voice. "So what do we got?"
Esposito launched into the briefing of what he and Ryan had found since yesterday. "Eastway rented 700 cars last Wednesday."
"We believe our suspect is going under the name Cole Maddox. He rented out of JFK," Ryan added.
Esposito continued, "It's a Kansas driver's license. Now, we did some digging. It's a cover ID."
"Did he return the car?" Beckett asked, hoping that the lead was still hot.
Esposito gave her the answer she was looking for, and more. "No, but . . . Eastway maintains GPS tracking on all of its equipment, so we tracked it to the lower east side to a one-block radius somewhere along here."
"All right, you stay on grid. Let us know if he moves," Beckett ordered Ryan. "Esposito, you're coming with me."
Ryan, alarmed by what was happening and how quickly, sought to slow it down, for at least a discussion, if not a different decision. "Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa. What are you doing? You want to do this, you do it right. You put a team on that car and you bring backup with you."
Beckett's whisper belied the force behind her response. "Ryan, this whole thing started because of a group of corrupt cops. How do you know there aren't more out there? We're about an inch away from catching this guy, and I'm not gonna blow it by advertising our next move."
The discussion was interrupted by Esposito's personal phone vibrating and buzzing in his pants. Espo was doing his best to ignore the phone, but then Ryan's phone chirped. Glancing at each other, Espo dug his phone out of his front pocket, while Ryan began to reach into his jacket to retrieve his.
Espo read the text, once, then again, before asking in confusion, "Do either of you recognize 917-555-0004?" Getting a shake of Ryan's head and stony silence from Beckett, Espo began to read the text aloud. 'Gates knows about DNA match.' At that point, Ryan joined in, reading with Esposito the identical text message, but from Ryan's own phone. 'Only knows I know, but not how I know or who else knows. I'm sorry, no choice.'
"I got it from the same number," Ryan finished, if that wasn't already obvious.
"Castle. It's got to be from Castle. That son of a bitch." Beckett snarled. Esposito and Ryan both startled, eyes narrowing and brows furrowing, at the raw emotion she directed at the man both had thought of as their boss's best friend, with the real potential of much more. "This doesn't change a thing, except we've got to go right now."
Beckett turned and took a step toward the open door to the conference room, just as Captain Gates arrived. She'd left her office confused and with several questions after her conversation with Castle, but as she scurried to the conference room, she'd shelved her questions for later. She was now back to full-on angry.
Beckett had no difficulty reading Gates in a flash. The anger was coming off of Gates in waves, and Beckett knew none of them were going anywhere, at least not right now.
"Detective. My office. Now." Gates commanded, before she re-focused her gaze on Espo and Ryan. If anything, her voice grew harsher. "You two, don't leave this room until you get my express permission."
Robert Weldon was again wondering what good it was to be mayor if it didn't keep him from getting stuck in traffic. Riding in the back of the official limousine usually made time in traffic less wasteful and more pleasant than when he'd been a Council member. He had hoped that the way-too-early-morning prayer breakfast would be over in time to get back to City Hall before traffic had really picked up.
That hadn't happen. The limo hadn't moved more than a car length over the last 5 minutes when his personal phone rang. That meant he was more likely to have a conversation as "Bob" and not as "Mayor Weldon," and about a topic other than his mayoral responsibilities or politics. These calls the Mayor looked forward to, so he was smiling as Bob took the phone out of his jacket's interior pocket. The smile disappeared when he didn't recognize the calling phone number. He slide the "Reject Call with Message" icon to direct the call to his voicemail with its basic, number-only message.
A few seconds later, his phone rang again, same calling number. The phone hadn't chirp to alert him to a voicemail, nor was there a voicemail icon on the display. He re-directed the call again.
There was a longer interval before the caller tried again. There was still no voicemail chirp or icon to indicate that a voicemail had been left after the second call either. He's persistent, the Mayor thought. Maybe it was the hour or the boredom from being stuck in traffic, but Mayor Weldon decided to answer to let the caller know he was dialing the wrong number and stop the cycle.
Using his 'best' New Jersey impression to prevent the caller from recognizing his voice, the Mayor answered. "Yo, s'up?"
"Hello?"
"Who ya callin'?
"Bob, is that you?"
"Ricky! Man, you gotta ask for McCheese. Only you call me that, and I'd have dropped the Jersey Shore audition."
"Wrong type of call for that, Bob."
"Ooh, that sounds a bit serious for you. First, how's my 'niece' and Martha? And that gorgeous Detective Beckett you've been only 'shadowing' for way too long?"
"I'm calling about Laura Cambridge's murder." The Mayor instantly went quiet and still, and Castle continued. "We know that someone orchestrated the murder, and the other scandals around you, to smear your reputation and prevent a run for governor."
"Are you telling me you know who? Who was it, Rick?"
"No, I don't know," admitted Castle. At least not yet, he thought. "But we're going to start shaking things up, and you might get a shot at seeing who's turning the wheels. I want to make sure you don't miss the opportunity, if we get that lucky. Maybe get your reputation back. You're meant for more, Bob, and maybe that can become possible again."
"The police have re-opened the investigation? About time, but I haven't heard a word. Damn 'em, I've told the Commissioner and the DA that I needed to be kept informed of any developments in that case, especially if it might hit the press."
"It's not that case, Bob. There's another investigation that I expect will go public very soon, that might draw more than its share of attention."
"OK, what's it about?"
"I think for both of our sakes, that's all I should say."
Plausible deniability, thought the Mayor. Explains why Castle didn't call using his regular phone. "Alright, Ricky, I won't push. We'll do it your way this time."
"Appreciate it, Bob, I just wanted to make sure you weren't blindsided, and that you know to look for the bigger picture. I'm already behind on today's must-do list, so I've got to get going. But thanks for asking about Alexis and Mother; both are well. Detective's another story, but that'll have to wait for another day. Take care."
"You too, Rick. Thanks for the head's up." The Mayor hung up, already deep in thought on how to quietly prepare to be ready for whatever was coming.
It took longer than Castle had planned for his next call to be connected to the person he needed to speak with. His call was transferred three times, and the person finally had to be paged to pick up the call.
"Hey, it's Richard Castle. . . . Yes, finally, and can't believe I didn't sooner . . . . Trust me, she's been quite vocal about it . . . That's why I'm calling. I'm offering a special today, and today only . . ."
Castle had been watching the clock during his calls, and he was already running late. Plus, he wanted to be gone from the loft in case Gates decided she wouldn't wait until tomorrow to talk and send an officer to bring him in for questioning. He dialed the number for the last call he had to make before he left.
[Ring] . . . [Ring] . . "C'mon, pick up." . . [Ring] . . . Castle heard the call transfer to voicemail. "Damn it," Castle muttered.
After waiting out the voicemail greeting, Castle left a message, the urgency plain in his voice. "We need to talk, as soon as we can. Please call the number you've used before, and leave a message with times you'll be available. I'll call back with this same number. I'll be checking messages at the bottom and top of the hour. Call soon."
A phone that didn't generate Caller ID rang a phone that had a number very few knew.
Knowing only one person would answer, the caller started talking the moment the call was answered.
"You asked me to call if I heard that he headed for the hills. Well, he hasn't, but his mother and daughter have."
"When?"
"Just this morning, after calling in the middle of the night for a security team."
"Huh. How many?"
"He asked for three, got two. One Special Forces, one Ranger. Both stayed with the redheads; no security with him."
After a few seconds, the man who had answered the phone spoke again. "Well, sounds like that might turn out to be a problem for him."
