"I feel like a spider in his web," Rick mused. "Or maybe a wise guy." He pushed out his belly and puffed up his cheeks, his chin lifting. "I got an offer you can't refuse," he said, in a creditable impression of Don Corleone.
Maggie sighed. "Stick with the writing," she advised.
"And as long as you don't look on us as the flies," Kate added.
"Tasty." He grinned.
The three of them were sitting in the living room of his loft, two open bottles of red wine on the table, one of them finished. It had been Rick's idea to get out the St Emilion.
"Mags, you're still on LA time, you're exhausted and hyped up on coffee." He'd nodded towards the mug clasped in her hand. "There's no way you're going to sleep unless you wind down."
She'd glanced at the label, raised an eyebrow at the quality, but allowed him to open and pour.
Kate didn't know a great deal about wine, and what she did she had learned from her mother, who had taste if not necessarily the cash to indulge, but even she recognised the class as it almost melted on her tongue, slipping down her throat like nectar. She made a mental note not to drink more than a glass or two – it would be far too easy to get drunk without realising.
She looked at the red liquid, watching how the light seemed to make it glow, and thought back over the day.
After dropping Martha and Alexis off at Lanie's place, she'd stopped by her apartment on the way back to pick up a couple of things, unfortunately meeting up with the supervisor of her building.
"Sorry, Ms Beckett," he'd said, scratching his head. "The repair man said it needs parts, and as everyone's pretty much in the same situation, he's not that confident it's gonna get fixed before next week, Monday tops."
Kate hadn't sighed. In fact, she'd made a point of definitely not sighing, so the air escaping from between her lips must have simply been her breathing out. "Fine," she'd said. "I'm spending a couple of days with a … with a colleague, so it won't affect me that much."
The supervisor had looked disappointed, and Kate had the overwhelming impression that he'd looked forward to her running around the building in a skimpy, sweaty, see-through top and short shorts. That was followed by an almost overwhelming urge to get out her gun and threaten him, something she had to squash ruthlessly before she squashed him.
By the time she parked back at Castle's apartment she'd managed to marshal her temper somewhat, and wiping the sweat from her top lip she walked to the corner of the building, peering around. She'd been right – uniforms had been sent to clear the reporters, but they were back, clustered around the main doors. She smiled. At least they were looking suitably limp and trying to catch the smallest bit of shade to protect them from the sun.
Ducking back before they saw her, and possibly let Stavich know she wasn't keeping as far away from Castle as she had been told, she headed for the back entrance, something the reporters so far had apparently failed to notice.
As she was about to go inside out of the heat, a cab pulled up and Maggie Maguire climbed out.
"Been busy?" she asked.
Maggie handed a couple of bills to the driver and turned around. "I've been making a few calls. Seeing a couple of people."
"About Castle?"
"Mmn."
"Get anywhere?"
Maggie glared at her, then laughed, surprising the other woman. "Oddly enough, no. If it was personal, nobody's talking, and if it was a hit, nobody knows." There was just a trace of bitterness in her voice.
"That's the fun of police work," Kate said as they made their way inside. "Often it's only the negatives that give you the shape of the positive."
"That's almost poetic."
"Only almost."
"Oh, yes." Maggie pushed a hand through her short, almost-black hair. "You know, this whole thing is going to drive me insane."
"I doubt you're the only one."
They got into the elevator. "Oh, I know," Maggie went on. "Rick might be making jokes, being Rick, but it's affecting him. I can see it in his eyes."
"Those little lines at the corners."
Maggie nodded, not surprised that the other woman would notice. "Yes."
"Then we have to do what we can."
"I thought you weren't on the case."
"I'm on leave. And that isn't the same thing at all."
"No." Maggie began to smile. "No, it isn't."
And now here they were, sitting in comfort and enjoying the second bottle.
"I just can't seem to get my head around it," Rick said, picking up his glass again. "Something … itches."
Kate looked up. "Itches?"
Rick nodded. "Something someone said, or did … it's like an itch I can't scratch, not knowing what it is."
"Something to do with the proof they've got against you?" Maggie asked.
"Maybe." He looked disgusted with himself for not being able to pull the pieces together. "But that pisses me off, I know that. How the hell did the perp get my stuff?"
"Maybe they went through your trash," she suggested.
"It's possible," Kate agreed. "If someone was planning on framing you, and the murder wasn't a spur of the moment thing …"
He turned to look at her, an odd look on his face. "You think that? It was all planned?"
"I don't see it working any other way. Not really. Someone put your details into her datebook, but that could have been done at any time. But your hair, fingerprints …" She got up to pace, something he'd noticed right from the start of their relationship. Sometimes, when she was trying to see the whole, to see the wood beyond the trees, she had to move, to walk. Or maybe go shoot at targets down on the firing range. "For anyone to get those they'd have to be very lucky. Or very clever."
"Or they know you," Maggie put in.
"What?" Both of the others looked at her, but it was Rick who spoke first. "Know me?"
"Oh, I agree with Kate about the datebook. Anyone with any kind of IT knowledge could have put your name into her calendar and backdated the entry, and I guess maybe the hair might have come from the trash – I mean, Alexis and Martha are redheads, so it wouldn't be difficult to tell. But to know which one was your car, to be able to get inside to plant the laptop and jewellery –"
"And the knife," Kate interrupted, glancing towards the kitchen. "With Honor McAllister's blood around the base of the blade."
"To plant that someone had to get into the loft," Maggie finished.
"Is that possible?" Kate looked at Rick.
He shrugged. "About as possible as breaking into my car and me not noticing. I guess. But this is a secure building, doorman, cameras … it would be difficult."
"But not impossible, not if you really wanted to." She made a mental note to get someone to check the recordings.
"No," he conceded unhappily. "You know, maybe I should reconsider installing that panic room."
"Are you missing anything?" Maggie asked. "Anything else, I mean?"
"Other than what?" He laughed, but there was no humour in it. "I didn't know anything had gone in the first place, so how would I know?"
Kate sat down again. "Can you look? Search?"
"Katie, you might not have noticed, but this isn't a minimalist home." He gestured to include the entire apartment. "I buy things. And it's not just me, but my mother, and Alexis too. If we ever have to move it's going to take the National Guard and a whole fleet of trucks to do it." He sat back, resting the lo-jacked ankle on his other knee. "Besides, things get thrown out by accident. And as far as I know the trash isn't locked up."
"That's true." Maggie yawned, hiding it behind the words, "I've seen stuff of yours on e-bay before."
"You do searches for me?" His amusement fairly oozed off him.
She turned a very delicate shade of pink that clashed monumentally with her green eyes. "I … might." She lashed back. "Besides, I know you Google yourself every few days."
"Only so I know what people are saying about me."
"Nothing good, I'm sure."
"I wouldn't know, seeing as I'm currently without my computer."
"I've got mine in my case if you feel the urge."
Rick smiled at her, and for a moment Kate felt excluded, missing from all the years they'd been friends.
"As much as this is fun, it isn't exactly getting us anywhere," the detective put in.
"No, I suppose not." Rick stretched his back out. "But I'm still not exactly clear on what we should do next."
"What we have been." Kate sipped her wine, surprised when she realised it was the last mouthful. "Keep trying to figure out who did it, and get Paul Stavich to see the error of his ways."
"Is that going to be easy?" Maggie wanted to know.
"Not particularly."
"But is that it? Just prove reasonable doubt?"
"In theory."
Maggie moved to the edge of her seat, staring. "What the hell do you mean?"
"If we don't find the real culprit, Castle's going to have this hanging over his head forever."
"Hey, I'm still here," Rick insisted. "And I don't mind it hanging over my head rather than have it me being hanged."
"And what about Alexis?" Kate countered. "Do you want her to have to live with the fact that people think her father is a murderer? Because it will be brought up, every so often. Maybe a year will go by, perhaps two, and you'll think it's gone away, then you'll put out another book, and there it is again, large as life and twice as ugly."
There was silence for a moment, then Rick nodded, albeit reluctantly. "You're right. I wish you weren't, but you're right." He gulped the rest of his glass, wanting only to feel the warmth in his belly.
"We'll work it out," Maggie promised.
"Sure." He didn't sound convinced. "That's all we have to …" His voice trailed off. "Hang on. Coup de grace."
"What?" Maggie glanced at Kate, who shrugged.
"Petra used the phrase. When she was talking about the paperweight having been used to stun Honor before delivering the coup de grace."
"And your point?" Kate asked.
"I was just wondering … how many people knew Honor was dying?"
"I don't understand."
He shook his head, trying to clear the cobwebs. "Maybe … I don't know, Katie. But I can't help feeling it's important."
She opened her mouth to tell him, once again, not to call her Katie, but this time she held back. For now, just while this was all going on, she was going to cut him some slack. "Did Petra know?"
"About Honor?"
"Mmn."
Rick shrugged. "Do you want me to ask her?"
"Yes."
"No problem. Now?"
"Please."
"Okay." He walked into his study to phone from there.
Maggie picked up the bottle of wine and tipped it over her glass, but only a thin dribble emerged. "Another dead one," she muttered, putting it back on the table. "I'll get some more." She stood up and walked, with barely a moment of instability, towards the kitchen.
Kate shook her head. "No. I've had enough, and I don't think I'll need any help sleeping."
"I will." Maggie perused the bottles in the rack by the fridge, then slid one out. "This will do." She struggled a little with the bottle opener, but eventually she grinned and turned back. "Success." Sitting back down she filled her glass almost to the brim.
"So?" Kate asked as Rick came back into the room.
"Petra said she'd never met Honor MacAllister, so why would she know she was terminal?" He dropped back into the chair, reaching down to scratch at the electronic tag around his ankle.
"Stop that," Maggie admonished. "You'll make it sore."
"It itches."
"I'm sure there's some cream we can use …" She went to get up again, but he stopped her.
"Mags, I'm fine." He grinned at her, and Kate was surprised to see such an amount of warmth in his eyes. "Stop trying to mother hen me."
"Why?" Maggie gulped another mouthful of wine. "Someone has to. You don't exactly do a good job of looking after yourself."
He raised one eyebrow. "How much of this have you had?" He picked up the third bottle and was unable to hide the wince as he realised it was one of the more expensive in his collection, setting him back several hundred dollars, but at least two of the women in his life did seem to be bonding over it.
Maggie held out her glass. "More, please."
He chuckled, deep in his throat, and poured her another helping. "Kate?"
"No, I'm fine."
He studied her, the carefully applied make-up just a little smudged, as if she'd rubbed her eyes recently, and her hair was slightly mussed. "You know, I think you should. It's pretty good, and good wine deserves to be drunk with good friends."
Kate stared at him, knowing the haze of alcohol was making him seem a lot more gentle than usual, but not not liking the effect. "Fine," she said, giving in and shrugging. "But just a taste."
They talked around the subject for a while longer, then Rick sighed. "I don't know about you, but I'm hungry." He pointed at Maggie. "And you're going to be useless to anyone in the morning if you don't have something to eat."
As if to emphasise his point, her stomach rumbled, very loudly.
Rick laughed.
---
By the time chilli, rice and another bottle of red wine – chosen by Rick this time – had been consumed with evident enjoyment, they'd talked themselves out. Indeed, as he served the food he'd decreed they wouldn't discuss his case any more, and conversation had warmed mostly to the two women taking pot shots at him. He didn't mind, enjoying the fact that both Kate and Maggie had loosened up, and to see them laughing, even at his expense, made him feel like maybe things weren't as bad as they appeared.
At a natural pause, he stood up. "Okay, I need a shower."
"That interesting perfume is you, is it?" Maggie joked, hiccupped, then laughed.
"Probably." He stretched again, this time feeling the joints popping all down his back. "Eau de jail. It's the new in thing."
"I don't think it will sell."
"Me neither."
"I'll clear," Kate said, stacking the plates and getting to her feet.
"No, leave them. Tomorrow will be good enough." He chuckled. "It's not like I'll be going anywhere."
She ignored him, carrying them to the kitchen and putting them onto the counter. He followed, the empty chilli bowl in his hands.
"Dishwasher?" Kate asked.
He pointed. "Down there. But I meant it. Leave everything."
"No, I –"
"Kate." The tone in his voice had her looking up in surprise. "I know you like things to be neat, but sometimes they're not."
"Castle …"
"Just keep an eye on her."
Kate glanced back at Maggie, still sitting at the table staring into her glass. "Why? I mean, I know she's been knocking them back, but –"
"Because she's sometimes not as strong as she thinks she is. Sometimes I'm not the one who needs looking after."
Yet again Kate was struck by the hidden depths in the man in front of her. No matter how often he insisted there was nothing beyond what he showed, the brashness, the immaturity that manifested as downright childishness on occasion, there were flashes of sensitivity, of … this. And even the quick burn of jealousy that she stamped on didn't change things. "No problem," she murmured.
He nodded in thanks and headed up the stairs.
---
Twenty minutes later and he felt more human, and more than a little surprised that he hadn't been shocked into insensibility by the tag around his ankle, but apparently the technician had been right about it being waterproof. He towelled off and slipped into a pair of soft cotton pants and a large, washed-out blue t-shirt. It occurred to him that maybe this was a bit too relaxed, and added a tartan cotton robe over the top. At least his air conditioning was working fine, so he wasn't going to get too warm.
Heading for the stairs, he became aware of voices, and realised Kate and Maggie were talking about him. He smirked slightly, moving closer, quiet on bare feet, wondering whether he should be eavesdropping like this, but lowered himself to the top step nevertheless, just low enough that he could see through into the living area. Not that they were likely to take much notice of him, not with the conversation they were having.
Maggie was speaking, the pair of them having decanted from the table to the easy chairs. "Kate, this is us. Not a cop and a writer, just two women having a drink and chatting about a mutual friend. Do you think he's guilty?"
"Maggie –"
"Rick, a man who prides himself on the minutiae of police procedure, leaving incriminating evidence in his own kitchen, for God's sake. Do you think he's that stupidly arrogant?"
"Which question do you want me to answer first?"
Maggie closed her eyes briefly, and when she reopened them they were unnaturally shiny. "Either."
"Then, in the order you asked ... No, I don't think he's guilty. And no, I don't think he's stupidly arrogant. And yes, before you ask. I do think he's being framed. I never claimed anything else."
"Good." Maggie emphasised her point by waving her wine glass, and not noticing some of it spill over her hand and onto the rug.
Rick winced, mentally making a note to get the soda water out first opportunity.
"So do you want to sleep with him?" Maggie asked.
Rick cringed even more than over the wine. Has to be the alcohol talking, he told himself. Maggie wouldn't do this otherwise. He listened for more.
Kate shook her head. "He's my partner."
"So?"
"You don't … there are unwritten rules …"
"Maybe they're unwritten because they're crap." Maggie noticed her hand was wet, and licked the wine from her skin.
"Relationships between colleagues make things difficult. Especially if I have to tell someone to do something they don't like, and I'm sleeping with them."
"You tell him to do things he doesn't like all the time."
"But I'm not sleeping with him."
"Do you want to?"
"No."
"Methinks the lady doth protest too much," Maggie murmured, but added in a louder tone, "But I know what it is. You think when things go wrong, they go wrong worser."
"Worser?"
"It's a word." Maggie looked defensive.
"Whatever, yes. I do think it makes things …worser."
"Like you and Sorenson."
Kate stared at her, her jaw dropped. "He … he told you?"
"Kate, we talk about everything."
Uh oh. Rick's inner voice was now kicking him in the backside. Just pray Katie doesn't remember anything about this in the morning, it was saying. Else you're going to end up bruised. Again.
"Do you want to sleep with him?" Kate countered.
"Already did."
"Oh, yes, that's right."
"A long time ago."
"And now?"
Maggie laid her head on the back of the sofa. "So maybe in the darkness of a sleepless night, maybe I do fantasise a little. Is that wrong?"
"No. Tell anyone this, and I'll deny it, but … maybe I do it myself."
"About Rick?"
"That, Ms Maguire, is something you're never going to know."
Maggie chortled. "Yeah. Right." She turned her head enough so she could look at Kate. "You know," she said, blinking to focus better. "Shall I tell you something funny?"
"Sure." Kate took another mouthful of wine and feeling it slip down her throat so smoothly it was like heaven on her tongue. She chastised herself for the simile, and decided she'd been spending way too long in Castle's company. "Go on."
"What?"
"You were going to tell me something funny."
"Right." Maggie sat up a little straighter. "Did you know that, for all the time Rick was with Meredith, he was faithful? I mean, she was the one slept with her director. Rick didn't." She played back the last sentence in her mind. "I mean, he didn't sleep with anyone else."
"Really? I thought –"
"'Xactly," Maggie interrupted, winking and tapping her nose at the same time. "Everyone thinks that. But he didn't. Doesn't."
Kate was beginning to realise Maggie was attempting, in a roundabout way, to tell her something. "Then why does he have this reputation for being a womaniser?"
"That was Meredith's fault. She made him. Changed him." Maggie's face took on a sad, serious air. "I think it was the last time – the only time – he let someone break his heart." She sniffed. "He built a wall up around it then, and won't let anyone in. Martha and Alexis, they have a kind of day pass, but nobody else gets close."
"Not even you?"
"Okay, maybe I get an annual visit." She shook her head again. "But he's too good a man to waste."
"Are you trying to sell him to me?" Kate asked, somewhat suspiciously.
"No. I'm just pointing out that, while he has his faults, which are many and varied, he has a good side too."
"Oddly enough, I'm aware of that."
"I'm just saying …" She paused for a moment. "If you're attracted to him, he's a good guy underneath. A little immature, but then so are most men."
In an attempt to lighten the atmosphere, Kate asked, "What about Gina?"
"Faithful." Maggie sighed, the sound seeming to come from the depths of her red leather sandals. "Even to her."
"Why did they get married?" As soon as the words were out there, Kate wished she'd never asked, and wondered if maybe Maggie wasn't the only one to have had too much to drink.
But the other woman just sniggered. "No idea. There must have been some reason, like maybe they thought it was a good idea at the time. Or maybe they were drunk."
"You mean like you are?"
"I'm not drunk." Maggie would have drawn herself up, but she was too comfortable immersed in the softness of the armchair. "I am … pleasantly mellow."
"I'd hate to be your eyeballs tomorrow morning."
There was a pause, then another laugh. "You know? Me too."
"For that matter, me three," Kate added, chuckling herself. "I think I've had way too much."
"Nice, though, isn't it? That's my Ricky," Maggie said, draining the last in her glass. "Always has the good stuff."
After that there was a long silence, in which Rick, his affection for the two women who were now slightly the worse for wear outdoing his embarrassment, walked quietly down the stairs, saying not a word. He just made them strong, black coffee and put them to bed.
---
If the sunlight seemed a little strong, Kate put it down to sleeping in a strange bed. Certainly not the amount of alcohol she and Maggie had put away the night before. At least the noise of the playground a little way off was muted, with only the occasional hooting of a car in the dull background noise of New York driving a stake into her forehead.
Esposito lowered himself slowly onto the bench next to her, carefully not making eye contact. "You look like something the cat crapped on," he said quietly, barely moving his lips.
"Thanks."
"And I mean that in the nicest possible way."
She glared at him over the top of her dark glasses, then pushed them back up her nose. "How's it going?"
"You know I can't tell you."
"And I'm not asking. In fact, here's me, sitting here in the sunshine, not asking."
He looked around, watching the children on the swings for a moment. "Stavich thinks he has it nailed."
"I saw the papers."
"Yeah, he got his knuckles rapped for that, but he doesn't care."
"Is he looking for anyone else?"
"No. The knife, the paperweight, the hairs, the letter … he's convinced."
Kate's antennae pricked up. "What letter?"
"It was in the waste basket, screwed up. It's in Castle's handwriting, threatening McAllister if she didn't stop."
"Stop what?"
"It doesn't say."
"Is it addressed to her directly?"
"No."
Kate felt frustrated, like she had been not only blindfolded but made to wear mittens, trying to work her way out of a maze. "I need to see it."
"I can't."
"I know."
He shifted uncomfortably. "Beckett –"
"It's okay."
"No, it isn't." He turned so he could face her, and damn anyone who might be watching. "This is crazy. We know Castle didn't do it, but Stavich won't listen to either Ryan or me."
"What about the laptop? The one found in Castle's car?"
"The hard drive was reformatted. Very professionally, too, according to the tech boys. They're still working on it, trying to salvage something, but they're not holding out much hope."
Kate's eyes narrowed. "Someone thought there was something on it. Something incriminating, maybe." She paused. "Dominic Stirling should be back from Europe today. Talk to him. See if he knows who she was planning to profile next."
Esposito nodded. "Anything else?"
"Ask him how many people knew Honor McAllister was dying."
"You think it might be relevant?"
"I think maybe." She shook her head, a rueful smile twisting her lips. "I don't know. At the moment, mostly I'm thinking that if this gets as far as actually going to trial, Castle had better get used to only seeing the sky during recreation periods."
"Just imagine years of prison coffee." Esposito shuddered.
"For Castle, that would be hell." She almost smiled. "Oh, and pick up the tapes from the security at his building. Someone planted that knife, and they might just have been caught on camera."
"You got it, boss."
"There's one more thing. I need a favour."
"Only the one?" He grinned. "What kind of favour?"
"I need you to arrange something for me."
---
Maggie stood at the newsvendor's and glared at the various papers. Alexis was right, Rick's arrest and commitment to trial was splashed over every single one of them. Stavich had done a good job, and there was barely one that even considered he might be innocent.
There was a saying about there being no such thing as bad publicity, but this was going too far.
Dropping the right change on to the stack, she picked up one of the papers and headed for the subway. Her entire morning had been wasted, and now she wanted to get back to Rick's, take a couple of painkillers and hide.
As she waited to cross the intersection, though, her cellphone rang, the sound cutting into her hangover like a chainsaw.
"What?" she asked fiercely when she managed to disentangle it from her purse.
"Maggie?"
"Kate?" She took the phone from her ear, stared at it, then put it back. "How did you get this number?"
"You gave it to me. Last night. Remember?"
"Not … no."
"In case of emergency, you said."
"And is this one of those? An emergency?"
"Not quite. But I thought maybe you'd like to take a little road trip with me."
"Is this where you take me out into the desert and leave me?"
"Maggie, this is New York. The nearest desert is several thousand miles away. Although if you really want I can take you to Queens and dump you there."
Maggie smiled. "Rather you didn't."
"I just thought you'd like to come see Ferdie MacAllister with me."
"The Ferdie? Honor MacAllister's Ferdie?"
"The very same."
"What, are you missing Rick or something?"
"Or something." Kate's tone was so dry it make Maggie feel thirsty. "So … want to?"
There was barely a pause for thought. "Can you pick me up?"