A/N: Has it really been one and a half months since I started this story already? I can't say I expected that. Also, huge thanks to Angie ( dtrekker), who graciously agreed to create this wonderful cover art.
Chapter 7: First Impressions
Then it knocks on the door.
"Who is it?" Barry yells.
"NYPD; we want to talk with you about a murder that took place this morning."
Oh… shit…
Barry swallows loudly and moves to open the door and I follow, but he turns around before reaching the door and presses me against the wall.
"No snitching," he whispers harshly, turning to the door again already and yelling "I'm coming!" to the familiar voice outside.
When he opens the door, me in tow, a tall brunette in a red coat stands outside with a professional smile on her face, her badge in her hand, and a boyish looking irishman standing behind her. Judging by the looks, the murder tore them from their sleep a few hours ago.
"Detectives Kate Beckett and Kevin Ryan, NYPD. We have a few questions for Jonathan Gerthson, if you don't mind."
Barry moves to the side and opens the door wide. "Sure, no problem. Please come in. He's right here."
We transfer the talk from the doorstep to the living room, where we all sit down on the cushy sofas. Time to make her squirm.
"Nice to meet you, detectives," I say as I shake their hands. Then I narrow my eyes at Beckett. "Didn't I see you yesterday at Rick Castle's book release party?"
Her mouth pulls together to a flat line. "Maybe," she answers with a monotone voice, as if it is embarrassing for her. "I was there, but for another reason."
"Oh? So you're a fan of his work then, too? I loved his work since I was a kid. What with justice always being served, I think." Which is pretty ironic, given that I try to make the exact opposite happen in this case.
"No… Yes. But that's not… I was there for another case. Now, do you recognize this man?"
She pulls out a photo of a man and slaps it on the table in front of me.
As expected, it is the guy I… apprehended… last night.
"Yeah, that's the guy who slumped into my arms last night. Is he the victim or the suspect?" I ask.
"... Victim. So he just… happened to fall into your arms?" she asks.
"Pretty much, yeah. I tipped him on the shoulder, because he kinda looked like my uncle from behind. He turned around and apparently that was not good for his balance because he literally fell into my arms. Judging from his breath, he had one flute too much, I say. He whispered something of a limo waiting for him outside before he blacked out entirely."
"And what did you do then?" Ryan speaks up.
"I couldn't just leave him there lying on the dance floor, could I? As he already had a limo waiting, I took off for the nearest exit and took him downstairs with me. I figured, the people there are mostly rich, which means easy prey for the scandal sheets' page six. If nothing else he shouldn't have to endure that. Vultures, the whole lot of them. I took him down the stairs and out the back exit, where a limo waited already for him. The driver climbed out and took him with him, but I didn't want to go back to the party because my suit had sweat patches on it from the exertion of pulling him with me quite a couple of stairs. So I called Barry and returned to the loft."
This time it's Beckett again. "Let's say I believe you. Can anyone confirm that?"
Not that I could hold thinking that against her. But it hurts a little that a lie so close to the truth is absolutely unbelievable to her.
"Well, I'll answer that, although it almost sounds as if I'm a suspect. There was a security guy who saw me leave with him from the rooftop, then the driver who took him from me, then Barry here picked me up, then the night shift's door man saw me when I came here to sleep shortly after midnight. I think that accounts to something, yes?"
"Of course, Jonathan." "Please, call me Jonny." "Fine. Of course, Jonny. You're not a suspect," anymore, "you're a person of interest. We're just piecing the final hours of the victim's life back together, and you're one of the last persons to have seen him alive. I think he would've been grateful to be kept out of the scandal sheets' clutches, by the way," she says with a small smirk forming on her face.
Apparently she likes reporters as much as I do.
She and Ryan stand up, wanting to leave.
"Here's my card. If you can think of anything useful, give me a call."
Considering she's investigating a terrorist's murder, she's surprisingly calm and collected. Not a single peep that would tell this is a special case. Well, she is a by-the-book cop.
"If I wouldn't know any better, I'd say people are starting to drop like flies around me," I say as I accompany the two detectives to the door.
Kate Beckett's head turns around. "Not the first murder in your vicinity recently?"
I snort. "I'm in New York. Of course it's not the first murder in my vicinity. But anyway, my friend Alison was found murdered yesterday. Such a shame. She was such a bright young woman. I liked her, you know. Not 'like like' her, but I admired her work. From socialite to social worker. Hey, that's a good headline."
The detective stops in her tracks and faces me completely. "Alison Tisdale, the 'heiress' to the Tisdale Imperium?"
"That's the one. Although I wouldn't say heiress. Sounds weird. You knew her?"
She looks a mite uncomfortable."No... I'm investigating her murder."
"It has to be so hard for her brother. First the financial problems, and now his sister is dead. Well, at least the financial problems will be gone when his father eventually succumbs to his cancer. Not that it would lessen the grief, and that's a totally dark thought, I know, but what else can you see optimistically in this whole mess?" I say with a shake of the head.
She chews on her lip, but stops after a few moments when she realizes what she's doing. "Huh. That's interesting. Thank you for your time, Jonny."
"Anytime."
The seed of doubt is planted. Let's hope she and Castle will get the hint.
The two detectives walk for the elevator, while I close the door and slide down with my back to it. Didn't think they would work this fast. Well, didn't think they would work this case at all. It's all Barry's fault.
Moron.
Next week, probably no update on monday. Four exams in one week tend to do that to your freetime. Preliminary schedule: Thursday next week, tuesday the week after that, and then mondays as usual.
Maybe I should really start planning my story. Having to write an interrogation with Beckett can get taunting pretty quickly. It demanded to be perfect, and I ended up like my main character, quite figuratively. With the back to the door, not in another reality/dimension thing. And crying, don't forget crying. Well, not really, but I might as well have been; this was not at all as good as I wanted it to be, as it itself wanted it to be, but here you go.
