Psycho Killer – Chapter 7

They finally had a solid lead.

After putting some pressure on Marisol Cartagena, Beckett finally had the information she required to further her investigation.

Orlando Costas had been hired by someone he'd known from his time overseas with the military. "Someone dangerous," Marisol had said. According to his girlfriend, it was only supposed to be a one-time thing. A lot of money for one job. And they were desperate for money. Marisol knew enough to tell them that Orlando had been asked to steal all the files from a dead cop's house—Montgomery's. But the biggest piece of information was how this dangerous someone contacted Orlando Costas.

"He left notes for Orlando in a mailbox with a time and a place," Marisol said, near sobbing. "They were coded so I wouldn't know where. But I was in the car once. I saw where they met."

"Where?" Beckett had pressed, leaning forward.

"At a church, over on State Street," had been Marisol's reply.

Beckett stepped out of the interrogation room with a small triumphant smile on her face. She had a lead. It felt good. Really good. It had been nearly a year since she'd had any traction on this case… her case. Technically they were pursuing Orlando's murderer, but at the same time, they were getting a step closer to finding out who had shot her and who'd had her mother killed.

"Beckett!" Esposito shouted, slamming through the door behind her. "What the hell was that!?"

She halted in her tracks and spun around, glaring hard at her colleague. "I call it getting the job done," she snapped back.

"Really!?" Esposito didn't back down. "That's what you call it? I call it witness intimidation."

Beckett rolled her eyes and scoffed, "You've never had a problem with that before." She narrowed her eyes, going toe to toe with him. "You getting soft on me, Esposito?"

He scowled, taking offense, like she knew he would. But to his credit, Esposito didn't budge. "You threatened to have her kid taken away from her, Beckett," he hissed out. "If this were any other case…" his voice trailed off when Ryan and Castle emerged from the observation room, both warily eyeing the pair of them.

"What?" Beckett challenged, heedless of the audience now present. She stared at her colleague, her gaze hard and unyielding. "If this were any other case…? Finish that sentence!"

Esposito let out a sigh, and shook his head, raising his hands in surrender, backing down. Beckett clenched her jaw tightly, feeling a slight pang of guilt for questioning his loyalty. She had always been able to trust him to have her back, and there was no reason for her to start doubting him now. She flicked her eyes over towards Ryan and Castle, waiting for one of them to make a comment. Both remained silent, however she couldn't help but notice the look in her boyfriend's eyes. He was staring at her like she was a completely different person. And, when it came to this case, maybe she was.

The thought of his opinion of her changing because of how she'd treated Marisol in the interrogation room made her heart squeeze with a feeling she couldn't quite describe. It was some odd mixture of remorse, self-reproach, and some other emotion.

Averting her eyes, Beckett turned her focus back to Esposito. "You and Ryan head down to that church and see what you can find out."

"And Marisol?" he asked.

"We'll release her when you guys get back."

He grunted out a reply and nodded his head. Ryan said goodbye to Castle, and cast a concerned look in her direction before rushing to catch up with his partner, leaving Beckett alone with her boyfriend.

"That was intense," he spoke at length, breaking the awkward silence that had descended on them. "Is it always like that?"

"Uh?" she blinked, flicking her eyes back up to him as she knitted her eyebrows together in confusion. "Is what always like that?"

He pursed his lips, and gestured towards the interview room. "Are you always like that during interrogations?"

She hesitated in her answer, biting her lower lip and crossing her arms over her chest in a defensive manner. "No," she said at length, her nose wrinkling as she thought. "Not always."

"I've never really seen you in cop mode before," he stated, almost absently. "You know, it's kind of hot."

She snorted in reply, and then frowned. "Do you think I went too far?"

Castle contemplated her question for a beat, before letting out a long sigh, carding his fingers through his hair. "Perhaps," he said with a shrug. "But, hey, who am I to judge? This is your turf, not mine. And I've done far worse to get people to talk. Far worse. So I'm hardly in the right to judge you for your interrogation techniques."

Beckett stared at him, for a moment wondering just what he meant by that. Torture, she figured, had to be the only answer. She wasn't really surprise. Not really. The CIA was infamous for their 'aggressive' interrogations. But she didn't like thinking about her Castle, this ruggedly handsome man she loved, overseeing such things. Sighing, she dropped her head and averted her gaze, letting such thoughts fade away from her mind and refocused on her behavior inside the interrogation room. She couldn't help but feel a small pang of guilt for how she'd treated Marisol. The woman was a scared single mother, doing what she had to do to protect her child. What would she have done in Marisol's place? Probably the same, her mind supplied.

"Sometimes," Castle spoke softly in a reassuring tone, stepping closer into her personal space. "You've just gotta do what you gotta do."

Letting out a disbelieving scoff, Beckett held up her hands to warn him off, and stalked away from him. She knew he was right. She'd had to make tough choices before, but this was different. This time she'd allowed her personal investment in the case to get in the way. She didn't feel deserving of Castle's reassuring touch. Not now. The combination of what he'd said with Esposito's remarks had Beckett feeling regretful of her treatment of Orlando Costas's girlfriend. She'd let her emotions get the better of her, and for that she was both embarrassed and ashamed.

She slumped down into one of the plastic chairs against the wall in the side hallway. Hanging her head, she folded her hands up in her lap. Castle followed, as she knew he would, and gently sat down next to her. With cautious movements, as if he were approaching a scared animal, Castle shifted in his seat and slowly placed his large hand over hers. His other hand rubbed soothing patterns up and down her stiff back. She closed her eyes and swallowed, taking comfort from his touch.

"The stakes are higher for you," he spoke in a quiet, understanding tone. "But you need to calm down. Just breathe. With a cool head, you'll be much better equipped to get this guy."

He was right. She knew he was. She couldn't allow her emotions to seize control and derail her restraint and command. If there was one thing Beckett prided herself on in her work as a detective, it was her ability to maintain control over her mind and body. She needed to remain sharp and alert, so she could focus and see the whole picture, capturing all the little details that—if she allowed herself to get distracted by these emotions—she might miss. So Beckett did as he told her, and after a couple of minutes of deep breathing she felt the tension in her neck, back, and shoulders uncoil and fade away.

"There," Castle hummed softly, continuing to caress her back, his touch soft and warm… comforting. "Now, isn't that better?"

"Much, yes," she answered, offering her a grateful smile. "Thank you."

He smiled at her, and lifted his hand up from hers—still clasped together in her lap—and brushed back some loose strands of hair that had fallen across her face. "It's the least I can do," he murmured, his eyes finding hers, "considering all you did for me last year."

She chuckled softly, flicking her tongue out between her teeth as she glanced up at him. "Yeah, you were a major inconvenience," she said teasingly, playing along. "Just waltzed right into my life and turned it upside down."

He laughed lightly, moving his hand down the side of her face to cup her jaw in his palm, the pad of his thumb caressing her cheek. "Oh, that was really inconsiderate of me," he said with an exaggerated pout, sticking her lower lip out as if he was a little boy. "I hoped I made it up to you."

Beckett's eyes flicked between his lips and his sparkling blue eyes. "Yeah, you did," she confirmed with a soft smile as she remembered the first time they made love. "In the best way possible."

Castle reciprocated her smile with one of his own, but then his expression turned thoughtful. He swallowed and averted his gaze for a moment. "Do you regret any of it?" he asked, and from his tone, Beckett knew he was serious.

"No," she shook her head. "I have no regrets."

His lips quirked up. He caressed the side of her face, brushing his thumb across her bottom lip. "I know this might not be the most appropriate time or place, but… may I kiss you, Kate?"

Her heart rate skipped a beat, and she bit her lower lip, pondering her worthiness of such affections at the moment. But then she recalled the words she'd just spoken—no regrets—and the decision was made. Besides, she could really use the emotional support and comfort a kiss from the man she love would provide. She glanced around to double check that they were, in fact, alone. When she saw no one, she turned back to him and nodded her consent.

Castle smiled at her, moving his hand up, burying his fingers in her hair. "You're not alone, Kate," he said. "We'll get through this. As we've proven before, together we're a force to be reckoned with."

"That we are," she agreed with a grin.

And then he kissed her.

XXX

Esposito shot a look in his partner's direction when he shuddered dramatically as they stepped across the threshold and stepped inside the church interior.

"Yo, what's up with you, bro?"

"Nothing," Ryan assured him, rolling his shoulders. "Just… this place kind of gives me the creeps. I'm having flashbacks to my days at the catholic school my folks sent me to as a kids."

"Scary nuns?" Esposito asked with an amused grin.

Ryan gulped, and nodded. "Scary nuns," he confirmed.

Esposito shook his head, giving his partner a tired look. "Fine, you stay here, I'll see if I can find the Padre." He hurried off, leaving an anxious Kevin Ryan nervously glancing around, as if he was afraid a stern nun would pop out at any second to swat at his hands with a ruler.

He found an attendant, who informed him that Father Alvarez was in his office, reviewing his notes for the evening mass. The young man offered to fetch him. Esposito inclined his head and motioned back to his partner to come over. He stifled a groan and eye roll over his partner's nervous demeanor. But then again, maybe the Irish Catholics were different than their Latino brethren. By the time Ryan had joined him, a white haired man with the typical collar of a priest emerged from the backroom.

"Good afternoon, Detectives," he greeted. "I'm Father Enrique Alvarez. Josepe tells me you had some questions?"

"Yes, Father," Esposito bowed his head respectfully, shifting his jacket and holding up his badge. "Detective Javier Esposito, and this is my partner, Detective Kevin Ryan. We're investigating a homicide, and we have reason to believe the victim met with someone here sometimes this week." He took a photo of Orlando Costas out of his jacket pocket and handed it to the priest. "His name is Orlando Costas."

"And what day was this?" Father Alvarez asked, glancing down at the photograph and narrowing his eyes.

"Wednesday," he answered.

"Yeah," Ryan nodded. "Around 3PM."

Father Alvarez stared back down at the photo. But after a long moment, he shook his head. "I'm sorry," he said, genuinely disappointed. He started walking down the center aisle, Ryan and Esposito on either side of him. "I wish I could help. But we're open to the public and we get a lot of unfamiliar faces every day. We usually just leave them to their prayers."

Esposito glanced up, noting the yet unrepaired box attached to the wall. "If your donation box is any indication it looks like being open to the public comes with a price," he commented.

"Yes well, it's not the best neighborhood," Father Alvarez sighed. "We catch gang kids and the homeless all the time trying to take advantage of more than just our outreach programs."

Esposito nodded in understanding, gazing back at the box, his brow furrowing as he thought over a notion that just popped into his head. "How do you catch them?"

Father Alvarez gestured behind them towards one of the columns, and Esposito spied what was clearly a security camera up onto of the ornate capital of the column several rows back. He exchanged a look with Ryan.

"Yeah," Ryan said, shifting his feet. "We'd like to have your security tapes, if that's not too much trouble."

"No trouble at all, Detective," Father Alvarez said, handing the photo of Orlando Costas back to Esposito. "Anything to help bring some solace to this young man's grieving family."

XXX

"Stop your whining," the Knave ground out, glowering at the arms dealer. "You can indulge in your deviant appetites later. Right now we have a job to do."

Johann Kriedt let out a groan of defeat, and slumped down in the passenger seat as he stared out the window, watching as his colleague turned the white van off the main road and down a dark, narrow street, lit only by a flickering streetlight. The sun had just set, and twilight was upon them. They were somewhere along the docks in Brooklyn, driving around the warehouses. He pulled his cellphone out of his pocket and checked to see if their contact had returned his earlier text.

"The supplier?" the Knave inquired, his voice low and annoyed, clearly not pleased with the absence of any other vehicles at the agreed upon meeting place.

"He'll be here. He says he got stuck in traffic," Kriedt said.

"These explosive better be worth the price I'm paying," the Knave said.

"I've dealt with this supplier many times," he assured him. "The product's quality is guaranteed."

Kriedt shifted in his seat, once again feeling wary of dealing with the Knave. Though highly efficient and skilled, the assassin's moods could some times be unpredictable. And his dedication to the job was obsessive, almost fanatical. Kriedt would much prefer to be tied up in some pleasure dungeon with the spiked heels of Mistress Crimson pressing into his backside than sitting uncomfortably next to one of the most ruthless and sadistic killers he'd ever met. It was almost sickening to see just how much pleasure the man received from taking lives.

Unfortunately, Kriedt's client had specifically asked him to work one-on-one with the Knave. And this particular client was not someone he could say no to, especially when he arranged for his escape from the clutches of the United States government.

The man was a credit to his profession, his talents and skills unparalleled, as he'd witnessed first hand in Istanbul. It had been quite satisfying watching the Knave stop that CIA agent in his tracks. Rick Castle had looked like he'd seen a ghost, which Kriedt supposed was somewhat true when it came to the Knave. The man was a ghost. Even with his extensive feelers in numerous intelligence agencies throughout the globe, Kriedt had never found any files on the Knave.

His identity remained a secret.

Pocketing his cellphone, Kriedt sighed, scrubbing a hand down his face. "Look, I don't know why you need me for this. There's no need for introductions. Payment has already been made. It's just a simple pick up."

The Knave let out a dark chuckle. "Oh, that's where you are wrong, my friend," he said, a wicked grin on his face. "You're my insurance policy in case anything goes south." He turned away, glancing at the driver's side view mirror as the headlights of another vehicle approached.

Kriedt watched with wide terrified eyes as the Knave took his Beretta, a short-tubed silencer attached to it, out from its concealment underneath his jacket and doubled checked the magazine, before slamming the cartridge back into place. He swallowed heavily, trying to control the pounding of his heart as the killer deftly returned the weapon back in its hiding place.

The Knave caught his gaze and flashed him a wink, a devious glint in his eyes. "No loose ends, remember?"

XXX

After Ryan and Esposito returned from the church, all four of them camped out in the tech room to review the security footage. Esposito was on her right, leaning against the doorjamb as he silently sipped from his cup of coffee. Beckett suppressed a smirk when he tried to hide the grimace resulting from the awful taste. She had to agree, it was terrible coffee, but at least it had caffeine. She, on the other hand, had fortunately acquired another large skim latte with two pumps of sugar-free vanilla. Castle, being the amazing and supportive boyfriend that he was, had been kind enough to run out and get her one as she'd passed the time while the boys were gone by taking another look at Orlando Costas's financials.

"This set up is pretty cool," Castle noted, laying it on pretty thick with his persona of a writer shadowing his girlfriend at work. "You guys ever use it to watch the Knicks play?"

Esposito glanced at Castle with a frown, and Beckett couldn't help but notice his suspicious expression. She gently nudged her boyfriend in the ribs with her elbow and shot him a warning look. Castle locked eyes with her and shrugged, as if saying 'Told you it was a stupid cover story'.

Meanwhile, Kevin Ryan, being the homicide squad's king of all things media, was seated at the controls. Beckett watched as he finished uploading the security footage from the church and queued up the video feed for Wednesday afternoon. Beckett shifted her weight on her feet and positioned herself almost directly behind Ryan, crossing her arm over her chest, and stared intently at the monitor as it flickered to life.

The footage was black and white, and of subpar quality—nothing like the video feed from the CCTV camera around the city. But it was enough. The camera was centered on the battered collection box, with a couple rows of pews also in view. Beckett pursed her lips and watched as the footage jumped as Ryan fast-forwarded.

"Here it is," Ryan said, scrolling through the tape. "3 PM, Wednesday."

He slowed the tape down and they watched as Orlando Costas stepped into view. The young man hesitated for a moment, looking around the church, before sitting down in one of the pews. After a moment, a shadow crossed over Orlando's face and another man sat down beside him, but only his right shoulder was visible, the rest of him was off-screen.

"That's him!" Esposito declared, his excitement a little premature.

Beckett knitted her eyebrows together in frustration as she glared at the screen, half tempted to tilt her head to the side to see if she could get a better angle, no matter how irrational the idea was. "Damn it," she hissed out in a quiet breath, narrowing her eyes as she glared at the grainy image on the screen.

The two men talked for a while. Eventually Orlando got up and left, and Beckett almost held her breath, the anticipation almost killing her. "C'mon, c'mon," she mumbled out, hoping and praying that their mystery man would step into frame. He stood up, and what little of him that had been visible onscreen disappeared. Beckett clenched her jaw, stifling a groan at another disappointment.

But then, the man stepped into frame, and walked out down the aisle between the pews, taking the same path as Orlando Costas.

"Yes!" Beckett exclaimed, too caught up in her own excitement to register the surprised gasp coming from her boyfriend. "Rewind. Freeze it. There!"

Ryan did as instructed, and Beckett leaned forward, narrowing her eyes as she glared at the image of the man who shot her last May while she gave the eulogy at her deceased captain's funeral.

"So that's what you look like," she spoke aloud, barely above a whisper.

"I'm going to run this through the army CID," Esposito announced. "If they met in the military, someone in Orlando's old unit might be able to ID him."

"No!" Beckett asserted with a sharp voice, startling her colleagues. They glanced at her with stunned expressions. "No," she repeated. "We don't know who's involved and we don't know how high this goes. The minute we put this photo out there, people are going to know. He's going to disappear. And we will never see him again." She paused, reconsidering her decision for a beat before the fire of justice for her mother—and herself—blazed away any lingering doubts. "We're going to have to do this one on our own."

Ryan sighed, looking glum. "Beckett, that's impossible. All we have is a face. No name. No ID. No way to find this guy."

She shook her head, eyes flashing with stubborn persistence. "Then we'll find a way to find him," she declared, turning back to glare at the face of the man who'd put a bullet in her chest. "I'm not going to lose this lead."

With a nod, knowing the boys would obey her commands, Beckett ducked out of the tech room. She stalked over to her desk and grabbed her empty coffee mug. Her heels clicked hard against the wooden floorboards of the homicide floor as she marched out of the bullpen and towards the break room. She let out a growl of annoyance when she found the coffee pot empty. Shaking her head, she carded her fingers through her hair and turned away, only to halt in her steps when she noticed the broad frame of her CIA boyfriend blocking her path.

"Castle?" she questioned, brow furrowing. Since she was somewhat irritated having her path out the door obstructed, it took her a moment longer than it normally would to notice the thunderstruck expression on her boyfriend's face. Swallowing, she frowned and looked up at him with concern. "Rick, what is it?"

"I know him," he said in an almost haunted, hollow voice, his eyes glazing over with what must be traumatic memories.

"Know who?"

"The guy on the video," Castle elaborated, blinking his eyes and snapping out of his trance. He clenched his jaw and his face hardened with barely constrained rage. "The man who killed Orlando Costas, the man who shot you—" his eyes flickered down to her chest, before averting his gaze, a strange look passing over his face, "—he's the same man… the same man who tried to kill me in Istanbul two years ago. Remember? I told you about that. That's where I got that nasty scar on my left shoulder. I thought he was dead. I thought… but then I saw him again, just a few weeks ago… in… in Istanbul."

"Castle," Beckett stepped forward, raising her voice a little to break him out of his ramblings. He shook his head and heaved in a deep breath, snapping his eyes back up to hers.

"Kate?"
"Who is he?" she asked slowly, trying not to let the steel edge in her voice control her tone. She was not mad at Castle, and she didn't want him to think that she was. She was just trying to help him get to the information she desperately needed.

"Kilmer," Castle said. "His name is Ray Kilmer. He was my partner… before he went crazy and tried to kill me."