Author's note: I have never seen Caskett as a couple who talks openly about their feelings (at least not until later on in the show). Their relationship is reflected and developed beautifully through the cases that they work together - the ways they build theories, interrogate suspects, and support each other throughout the process. As a result, my fic is meant to honor that element of the Caskett's relationship. It maybe a little bit different from all the AU that you have read, so please bare with me. Hopefully, by the end of my work, you will be able to find the answers that you are looking for.
In addition, as much as I wish I was, I'm not a mystery novel writer. My knowledge on criminal cases (especially the terminologies and procedures) is limited. To assist with my fic, I've taken the liberty to use details from a few cases ("The final nail" from season 3, for instance) in the show and in some of the crime novels that I have read. Please excuse my unoriginal idea, and happy reading!
"Single stab wound to her back. Based on the way the knife is positioned, we can assume that the killer was holding the weapon like this." Lanie, raising her hand to demonstrate the attack, held the pen tightly in her fist and pointed its tip straightforward. "From the depth and severity of the injury, it's safe to say that the killer was strong, probably a male, and very angry. It didn't look like he hesitated. The blade went in deep, almost to the heel of the knife."
The ME continued and wrote down some notes. "No defensive wounds either. The victim either knew her killer or was taken by surprise. Maybe both."
"Time of death?" Beckett crouched down and examined the body.
"Can't give you the exact time until I get the body back to the morgue; but based on the body's temperature, I want to say sometimes between 7:00PM and 10:00 PM last night."
"Thanks, Lanie." Beckett looked at her friend. "And thanks again for coming."
Detective Becket was in her yoga practice this morning when Captain Montgomery called. There had been a homicide in the Montauk and she needed to report to the precinct ASAP.
"But sir," Beckett asked as she was still trying to catch up on her breath. "Since when do we take cases out in the Hamptons? We have like no jurisdiction there."
"Since the Hamptons PD called this morning and request our assistance, Detective. Apparently the only murder they got out there was when a coyote attacked Mr. Poodle."
"Mr. Poodle?"
"A Chihuahua." Captain Montgomery scoffed. "The story made it to the front page of The Hamptons Ledger. Too bad the killer got away and was never found."
So at 9:00AM on that Monday morning, Detective Kate Beckett found herself driving up east in her Crown Victoria with Lanie. The Deputy Chief of the Hamptons PD had also asked for an ME when he was on the phone with Captain Montgomery. From what Beckett heard from her Captain, their only medical examiner had gone on an extended vacation in Hawaii; the other available person with suitable medical experience was a sixty-year old veterinarian. I bet he was the one who did the autopsy on Mr. Poodle. Beckett suddenly imagined Castle saying that. She glanced quickly at her phone to make sure she had not miss any call from him. Where the hell is he?
"Of course. We don't get to take field trip like this too often." Lanie gave her friend a warm smile while continued inspecting the dead woman.
"I don't think that is necessarily a bad thing." The detective answered and took a look around the room. She was trying to find the person in charge.
"Detective Brady?" She approached a man with the "Chief" badge on his police hat. He was busy talking to one of the uniforms and did not notice the two New Yorkers when they arrived. She extended her hand. "Detective Beckett, NYPD."
"It's Chief Brady, actually." The slim man said awkwardly and returned the handshake. He was momentarily mesmerized by the beauty of the women standing in front of him. Being the Chief of the Hampton PD, he was no stranger to extravagant parties thrown by wealthy CEOs, businessmen, and real estate brokers. He would see countless of gorgeous women at these gatherings, all in their expensive dresses and jewelries. But none wore a badge like the New York Detective talking to him at the moment.
"Who found the body?" Beckett didn't seem to notice the slight tension.
"The victim's husband. He's in the bedroom with his friend right now."
"Friend?" The detective didn't wait around for Chief Brady to answer. As she headed upstairs, her mind was preoccupied with all the details from the crime scene. The victim lay dead on her right side, a knife went in deep to her back. She was mid-thirties, 5'2 – 5'4, brunette, attractive. Carefully done hair and nails meant she had a professional and comfortable life, but Beckett already knew that from looking at the interior of the house. Italianate style with some touches of Florentine architecture, this place had graceful arches colored in white and rows of picturesque windows. Beckett briefly allowed her mind wandered. She wondered what it would be like for her to live in a house like this, to come home from the precinct and make dinner with her husband. After less than five seconds, she swiftly recollected herself.
The victim was wearing a casual red and white polka dot cotton dress when she was murdered, and there was no make-up on her face. She wasn't dressing up, which means Lanie was right. She knew her killer.
"Cas…Castle?" the sight of a familiar face stunned the veteran detective as she stepped past the bedroom's threshold.
"Beckett?" The writer turned. He was equally surprised. "What the hell are you doing here?"
"What the hell am I doing here?" She was still in shock. "What the hell are you doing here?"
Before Castle could answer, the chubby man who was standing next to him nervously and curiously cut in. "Richard, isn't that Nikki Heat?"
"Yes…I mean, NO". Castle still had not been able to take his eyes off his partner. Despite the bewilderment, however, he quickly regained his composure.
"Ralph, this is Detective Beckett, NYPD. NY as in New York, as in not the Hamptons." He emphasized the last three words of his introduction.
Beckett ignored the writer's snarky remarks. She showed the Italian man her badge. "Detective Beckett, NYPD. The Hamptons PD had requested our assistance on this case. Are you Mr. Raphael Mercurio?"
"Si, Signorina." His voice was barely louder than a murmur. The somberness was hard to miss.
"I'm sorry for your lost, Mr. Mercurio." She allowed a brief pause for her condolences to sink in. "If it's ok with you, I have some questions that I'd like you to answer."
"Si, Si." Mercurio sat down on his couch, forgetting to invite the two other people in the room to do the same. Neither of them seemed to mind. Both took their seat on the opposing armchairs.
"Mr. Mercurio, at what time last night did you find your wife's body?"
"Around midnight. I just got home from my restaurant."
Beckett frowned. "Do you always get home that late at night?"
"No Signorina." The Italian shook his head. "We had an incident at the restaurant yesterday. My staff and I didn't close up until well after 11:00PM."
"What kind of incident?"
"A curtain caught fire after one of the table candles fell on it." Beckett could see the distraught in the man's eyes.
"Was anybody hurt?" Castle joined in for the first time.
"No…well, yes. Our reputation."
The dry humor did little to brighten the mood. "When was the last time that you saw your wife alive?" Beckett continued.
"Around 10:00AM yesterday morning, right before I left for work." Tears began to run down Mercurio's cheeks. Castle handed his friend the box of tissue that was sitting by the desk lamp.
"Does your wife have any enemy? Do you know anybody who might have wanted to do this to her?"
As Mercurio was about to answer, Castle cut in. "There is no way a wonderful woman like Luce could have upset anyone, let along making enemies. I know Luce. She is the nicest person the Hamptons could ask for. " The writer earned nothing but a stern stare from his partner.
"No, not that I know of. She never told me anything about that. Like Richard said, she is…was a lovable person. One time when she was in New York visiting her friends, she emptied every single dollar in her purse to help a homeless man. She even volunteered at a soup kitchen in Brooklyn every Sunday. Her life was dedicated to helping other people, to making this world a better place." The tears were falling harder.
Beckett stopped for a few minutes. She knew the pause helped little to ease the pain of families whose loved ones had been unjustly taken away from them, but it did give them just enough strength to get through the procedural questioning. She had done this thousands of times, and more than anybody else, she knew it was not easy to be sitting at the other end of these questions.
"The living room where you wife was murdered was completely thrashed. Did you notice anything missing from your house, Mr. Mercurio?"
"No, I haven't had time to check. I called the Richard and the cops right after I found her." Beckett heard the slip-up from the husband but she didn't want to pressure too early. Why did he call Castle before he called 911?
"So it could easily be a robbery gone wrong." Castle suggested.
"Castle!" Beckett hushed her writer. She was beginning to get irritated by his constant interruption. The detective then turned to Mercurio and decided that it was time for the final push. "Mr. Mercurio, where were you between 7:00PM and 10:00PM last night?"
It appeared clear that Castle was genuinely hurt and surprised when he heard the question. He exclaimed almost immediately. "Wait a minute. Why are you asking him that? You're actually checking for his alibi? You think he's involved?"
"It's alright Richard. I was at the restaurant all day today until midnight. I always do on Mondays. To get things ready for the rest of the week, you know?" Beckett noted down the information, but only after she had given Castle another angry glare.
"Thank you, Mr. Mercurio." She handed the Italian her card. "Please call me if you remember anything else." Beckett then turned to her partner. "Castle? A word?"
The guilty look on the writer's face was unmistakable. He followed Beckett out of the room looking like a kid just got caught stealing treats from the cookie jar.