Last Chapter: The team got to interrogate Dr. Josh Davidson about his involvement in Jared Porter's murder but the doctor could not provide a satisfying alibi. In the meantime, Beckett discovers a Post-it informing her that Castle is alive which brighten up the rest of the day.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
"Detective Beckett, comment this recording, please." Internal Affairs Detective Tony Jaw observed her reactions as he circled the table. It was early morning and she barely had the time for a coffee.
Kate Beckett sat and looked down at the remote control he had in his hand. In front of them was an old 19 inches Toshiba TV screen, with the enormous TV lamp bump in the back and a VHS integrated slot, on a three-shelves black transporting tray. A vision of her sitting in the Academy learning about field work, bullet trajectory and security measures from 1990 footage on a audio-video support like this one came back to her.
"You guys are underfunded! With all the corruptions and scandals going on, it's a shame." commented Beckett.
Tony Jaw fired her a look while she smiled lightly. The TV screen displayed a bright blue screen before an image came in replacement. The recording seemed to be from a security footage. There was too much light and white but the image adjusted quickly and a hospital unit appeared from the white noise.
"What am I looking at?" She asked.
"You'll see."
The camera seemed to had been filming from a certain height, the people in the footage, mostly nurses and doctors appeared small and unidentifiable. At the bottom of the screen, a dark haired man in scrubs walked towards the unit's entrance door. However, the view of the doors was blocked by the nurse station in the middle of the room. The memory hit her like flashbangs in the darkness; she saw herself walking down the screen and meeting with the man in scrubs. Behind her, the security man followed and they were joined by the young Jared Porter. There was no audio to the tape but she remembered vaguely what was being said. It was recorded the night of Castle's shooting, where they went to find him at the hospital.
"Where did you get this? This tape is relevant to my case. Why did you get it first?"
Relevant. Maybe that was a bit excessive of a statement. She knew exactly what was on that tape; there was nothing relevant to it. Nevertheless, she thought she should have had a copy, first.
He leaned towards her and locked gaze with her. "Bare with me, Beckett. The sooner you cooperate, the sooner you can go back to figure it all out. When was this taken?"
Walking back and forth, he waited for the answer. She bit her tongue; she had played interrogator too many times to remember how compromising it was to answer simple questions. Everything she did or say could be interpreted and held against her.
He waited still.
"Last Friday night; the night Castle was admitted to the hospital."
He glimpse satisfaction through a smirk.
"So, four days ago."
"How's this relevant to you? How does this," she pointed at the TV screen, "links anything to some old missing files?"
He had stopped walking, his hands were joint in front of him, still holding the remote. His head tilted to the side; more observing her reactions than listening to her deflections.
"I'm just trying to understand, Detective."
"Understand what?"
"You." He paused. "Let's see another segment, shall we?"
He looked down at the remote, searched and pressed the fast-forward button and pointed the device towards the DVD player.
The next segment did not showed much and was not interesting for any outsiders who didn't already know what was being said.
"What about it?"
The footage basically just showed Detective Malcolm, Josh Davidson, Jared Porter and herself entering a conference room. The surveillance camera continued to film the unit while they were in the room. After a time, maybe fifteen minutes, Jared Porter got out. He came back with a paper tray of coffees and came across Josh Davidson, out of the room. Davidson left with a coffee and Porter got in the room again.
Lain fast-forwarded it again and paused after she came out first of the room. Her small person was frozen in the middle of the screen.
"What do you want to know? There was nothing going on there."
"Nothing compromising then. Tell me what happened in that conference room."
Then it occurred to her that the IAD had no idea what had been said in there, she could tell them anything. They had basically no way of knowing— that was not true! There was Malcolm, they could corroborate her claims with his. There was also Josh Davidson. Damn it.
"Why did Porter get out?"
"Jos— Dr. Davidson requested that he go get coffees for all. Porter obeyed."
"How did he react to that order?"
Establishing basic details; details that he would corroborate with the other's testimonials to tell who lied and who did not. Also, it was acting as a lie detector, when building a lie, the teller is quite sketchy on unimportant details and eventually, the fake detail opposes another and the teller gets caught in its own fake story. Her best shot was still to tell the truth, but memory was forgetful, and the brain is used to patch it with fake details that made sense to it. She had to be careful.
"Porter didn't fuss about it. He obeyed. He seemed like a nice kid."
Keep it short, that was her rule.
"Why did Davidson leave. He looked angry."
"They told us, Richard Castle wasn't cleared for police interrogation yet. I tried to push it. It didn't work. He got out to vent it out."
"Vent it out? Why? He did his job. You did yours. He can't really hold that against you, could he? Unless there is something you are not telling me; you had an intimate relationship with Josh Davidson. Yes or No?"
Nothing like putting the finger on it, she thought.
"Had an intimate relationship; yes." She emphasized.
Again, the satisfying smirk. "Alright. I trust you. Now what happens right after that?" He played the next sequence on the TV screen.
Her person unfroze on the recording and was followed by Detective Stephen Malcolm, trying to keep up with her. Suddenly both of them stopped and turned around from where they came from. The camera caught the top of the head of Dr Jared Porter behind them. Lain paused the recording again. "Here."
She felt reluctant to comment that piece. On the other hand, her reticence would look suspicious, so she spit it out: "Dr Porter offered me to visit Castle even though he was still unconscious; because he was my partner."
"And you said: 'no'?"
Lain had seen the tape; he saw that she headed for the unit's doors. Beckett looked back at the TV screen and replayed the scene in her mind.
"When I asked, if you wanted to visit him, I wasn't making you a favor Detective Beckett," had said Porter.
It was that statement that had her and Malcolm turn around.
"Thanks. But no thanks." She had answered politely.
They had almost reached the unit's automatic doors when Doctor Porter shouted: "Kate Beckett, he was shot tonight! Do you have any idea what that's like?"
Beckett stopped short. She had to shook off her head from of the visions of herself lying in the grass — bleeding her heart to death, seven months earlier. She held the young doctor's stare and he understood.
"Then you know he shouldn't be left alone; surrounded only by strangers. When he wakes up, he'll think everyone is there to finish him. Ain't it right, ma'am?" he had said in a very calm voice.
"I didn't want to see him like this," said Beckett to Tony Jaw as she recalled her motives for refusing the offer.
"Understandable. However, you did went to see him like that."
She frowned and stared in defiance as he sat in front of her with a vicious interest.
He was right though, she did get to Castle's bedside that night, as she admitted to Dr Burke, a few days before. She looked at the tape as it unfroze and showed her, escorted by Dr Porter, going at his bed side, behind the curtains. The recording did not show what happened but she remembered it clearly. Porter had just left her alone with the unconscious Rick Castle, and instantly she felt nauseous from the mix of anger, despair and desire. For a second, she thought he was lying dead in the bed. Then she noticed his chest lifting at a normal rate; without assistance. His face was pale and wore a faded scared expression. His head, slightly facing the right, — away from her, — was wrapped in lightly soaked bandages. Maybe he had hurt his head. There was minor cuts and fade bruises on his face, like he had been in a fight. There were multiple IV lines linking the machines to his body. Two were blood filled and several others were clear as water. Then, she noticed the ECG monitor over his head. For having one attached to her for weeks, months ago, she knew there was six electrodes sticked to his chest under the hospital gown. The monitor showed the all indicators green; his heart was functioning normally.
She dared approaching the side of the bed.
Castle's whole body was covered under a sick-pale green blanket, except for his head, shoulders and right arm. The latter was bent over his chest in a light blue manufactured sling. Her hand landed over the blanket, on his healthy forearm hidden under. Beckett stood silent and squeezed his forearm lightly. He did not move an inch.
"I'm sorry," she whispered "I'm so sorry, Castle."
His heartbeat accelerated then returned to normal. She read no special meaning to it; punctuated micro-arrhythmia they say. Seven month back, they explained her it was to be expect even without any trigger. It was normal in any healthy heart.
After a minute, her hand let go of his and she quit looking at him. She wanted to say more. But he was angry with her and she had reasons to be angry with him as well.
Tears built in her eyes.
"What have you gotten yourself into? Why didn't you reach out to me? I would've been right there. You're my partner." She paused, "And, what the hell was that secret message to 911 for?"
His stoic response made her angrier. She wanted him to defend himself. To argue. Maybe what she regretted was their arguments. He left, barely said goodbye and that's it. No explanation, no second chance, no heated argument. She evacuated the boiling tension through a sigh.
"Where did we go wrong, Castle?"
Another slight heart rate spike recorded.
"I wish I had been there." Angry tears went down her cheeks; "How dare you tell me to stay away!?"
I love you, he kept saying in the cemetery. Every time she heard his pleading voice begging her to stay alive, a rush of guilt submerged her. She loved him in return, but the words just never sound right. She washed away the tears from her cheeks. "I wish you would've let me help you."
She put a hand to his head and passed her fingers through his hair. Her hand lowered to his jaw and she felt the pointy short hair of his light beard. She smiled briefly and sniffed; it had been three years since the last time she saw a beard on his face. She missed him. So much.
"I'm just glad you're okay."
She couldn't stay any longer.
His heart rate spiked again as she walked out. A last glimpse of him and she knew this visit wasn't such a good idea.
And that had been the last time she had seen him alive. Tony Jaw paused the tape after she closed the curtains behind her, as she left Castle's bedside; it brought her mind back to reality. The frozen image on the screen was blurry and basically just showed her silhouette, with a hand to her face.
"It's a little difficult to see over the distance, but I had it enlarged for you." He pushed a glossy paper with an enlarged picture framed around her face. Her expression could not be mistaken; she was crying.
"You'll have to forgive me for asking, Beckett, but: how close were you to Richard Castle?"
She knew the question of interdepartmental relationships would pop out eventually: this was IA's favorite topic after all. Beckett smiled and throw herself back in the chair, she crossed her fingers and shrugged: "As close as a partnership goes."
"Richard Castle was no cop, Beckett. It was a rather unorthodox partnership. So how close can an unorthodox partnership go?"
"Look, this tape and this interrogation is a big waste of my time and yours. There is nothing incriminating in terms of missing files. So what are we doing here?"
He saw the diversion but he let it passed. Chances were he only had a hunch. A big, unvalidated hunch.
"You are right. It doesn't."
BANG! She slammed flat hands on the table and rose from the chair in a single movement, ready to leave. "I'm glad we agree!"
"However," he emphasized raising an open hand, "this image, right here." He pointed at her teary figure on the picture still on the table in front of them. "This shows you have been emotionally compromised by your ongoing investigations. This highly suggests you shouldn't be work—"
"This shows I am no superwoman." She interjected. "This happened after a very long day, and a very long night. I was exhausted. You think it means I am emotionally compromise, I think it shows I am mentally healthy. This is what you'd expect under the given circumstances. From anyone. I bet any psychiatrist would agree if you care to have it analyzed. Besides, whether I should be working the case or not does not concern you. Go back to your missing files, and stop interrupting me over mere assumptions!"
"One more thing detective," he said just as she was about to leave the room, "Whatever your motives are, Beckett, I wanted you to know I admire you determination. As I am sure you know, the strongest fall just a hard."
"Goodbye, Tony," she said before she left without closing the door.
"We are not done, Beckett."
"This meeting is over" she yelled passed the door.
She hated herself for that, but she got back to the door frame, lowered her head and begged for a copy of the surveillance tapes. Tony Jaw smiled.
"I thought you would have the guts to ask," he rose from the chair, grinning. He tapped the documents he had in hands to even the pile and said; "You can take the tape in the VHS, I'm done with it. I'm sure you'll find it quite interesting."
O.o.O.o.O
"So it's true!"
Detective Stephen Malcolm hung up the phone without care.
They had him sitting at the desk in front of Beckett's, right next to the white boards. He was in fact using the desk while the owner, Homicide Detective Clayton Powell was on sick leave; depression. Malcolm made himself at home by putting the get-better cards in the drawers. He had also wiped the desk, monitor, keyboard, armrests and every other touchable surfaces and, readjusted the computer settings and chair to his liking. While he did that the first hour he was assigned to the desk, Beckett kept thinking she would have been so pissed if it had been her desk. However she was more pissed at the noise he made while at it. When he was finally ready to work and be quieter, he sat — maybe five minutes, — before having to take a personal call.
Now, Beckett was updating Porter's murder board when Malcolm came towards her.
"What's true?" She turned to face him in the wake of his explanation. He came next to her and took Josh Davidson photo from the 'Persons of Interest' zone and placed it back among the rest of the evidence and information collected. "The authorization paper, wasn't sign by his hand. Typo-guy confirms it."
"FYI, 'Typo-guy' is called a Forensic Document Examiner. F-D-E. And—," Kate Beckett took the magnetic clip holding Dr Josh Davidson's portrait and placed it back into the 'Persons of Interest' zone on the board. "— Davidson may be out of question to you, but it doesn't rule him out of Porter's death. This, —" she waved at the board, "— is my case. Go get your own board."
Raising hands in the air in surrender; "Alright, I'm sorry."
"Oh, no-no. No!" she stopped him with an open hand as it occurred to her. "This is your first case?"
"Everybody has got to have a first time." He said with a smile.
"Pardon me? No!" She placed the uncapped dry erase marker back in the marker tray and took a few steps towards the Captain's office.
"Hey. Easy-easy." He ran after her, "It's not my first case. Let's just say it's close enough."
She didn't move. "And they are letting you work alone?" She couldn't help a nervous look at Gates office; the lights were out and she vaguely remembered Karpowski saying she was out of office yesterday, maybe she was also out today.
"I'm not alone, they partnered me up with you. Besides, I'm a full-grown detective now."
"No. You're not my partner. Go get yourself a board," She pointed across the room. "Now!"
He turned his head around. "How—Where?"
"Oh what a great mystery! Maybe you should canvass the precinct? You are 'a full-grown detective' now, aren't you?"
Malcolm smiled lightly; "Okay, then" and then left towards the elevator. She pushed her hair back in a loud exhausted sigh. "Bad timing?" said Esposito coming from the opposite direction. She rose her head up to him and answered; "Tell me you got something."
"I got something."
He walked around her and took Dr. Josh Davidson's picture away from the Persons of Interest zone once more, earning himself one of her looks.
"I alibied him out, there is a jewelry store with security cams across his block, it's a bit blur, but it's him and he was home at the time of Porter's death. Hospital did confirm that he wasn't ringed that night as he asked not to be disturbed. He didn't do it."
"'Not to be disturbed?' Why?"
"He requested a night off."
"Wish I'd known that before. Okay, anyway. He didn't left his building, you say?"
"Nope."
"What about the back door?"
"I—eh, what back door?"
"I remember him going out to a corner store late at night when he could not sleep. There is a kid working the night shift. The kid was one of his cardiac patient. I think they have a security cam as well. Check, just so we are sure."
"Wow, it almost feels like you dated the guy." He was the only one laughing, so he cut short: "I'll talk to the kid tonight."
She sighed in acknowledgment. Her ego did not want her to be thankful, it wanted to know why the hell Esposito had the goodwill of providing an alibi. His act of goodwill did bring something very interesting; why had Josh requested a night off the night his resident was murdered? That rhymed with opportunity of murder, not alibi. Esposito interrupted: "Also," he looked around a second and continue in a whisper "about what you asked, I couldn't find any footage with the right angle, but I figured a way to extract all the logs of sent and received files on the fax." He handed her a printed copy of the said logs, "Here; all the people that had a reason to go the fax today; either to send or retrieve a file from it. However, we have no idea of whom might have lopped about. But hey Beckett," he grabbed her by the arm and lower his voice again, "are we doing what I think we're doing? Suspecting one of ours?"
"We are just covering every angle. We're trying to figure out who sticked that post-it there. That person knows something and it might lead us directly to Castle."
"Right. But listen, I hate the guy as much as you, but shouldn't we let Malcolm know about this?"
"Listen to me, when you and Ryan are working on assignment with me, you don't tell me your every hit and discovery, you dust it off first; so you have the answers to the questions I'll ask; we're doing the same here. We are dusting it off. When we'll have something, we'll tell him."
Ryan blended in at that moment; "For my part, I had a look at the visitors, like you asked. Check this out; there was only two during the three hours frame where the file was sitting by the fax." He handed her a page torn from his notepad. When she read the paper, she had to look back at him to be sure, he held her stare briefly but long enough to make her understand that she had read right. Written on the page wasn't written any names. As little as she understood, she played along and decided she would ask questions later, "Let me guess," she said after she fold the paper in her pocket, "none of them got even near the fax?"
"None of them was even authorized to access this floor," completed Ryan.
"Then why d'you —" started Esposito in confusion, "What about Dr. Davidson, he was allowed on the floor!"
"He was signed in half an hour after the reception of the fax and didn't left the interrogation room ever since his arrival."
"Are we sure of that?" said Beckett, "I mean, he waited two hours and a half in there, and with the amount of coffee he drinks a day, no doubt he requested to go to the bathroom. Ryan, ask the guard, if he was allowed to go. The fax is on the way to the men's room."
"No need," interrupted Malcolm, joining the conversation, "Once, I was done with him, Davidson complained he couldn't go before. I directed him to the ones down the stairs, near the entrance."
Beckett, turned to Ryan: "Check it, still." She then turned to Malcolm, "Watch it! This —"
"— is my case." He completed. "Why is Davidson going to the bathroom relevant?"
"Davidson is also relevant to my case. I thought you were investigating on how to get a board around here."
"Denise will have it delivered for me, any minutes now."
"Who's Denise?" said Esposito and Ryan in unison.
"The building administrator. In the basement. Sweet lady, late forties, short hair, likes glazed donuts. A bit pale, though."
"There is no Denise working administrative in this building." Replied Esposito. "I know every woman working here, no one is named Denise."
Esposito earned himself look from everyone. He shrugged in response.
"She introduced herself as Denise, very smiling lady, are you sure?" Continued Malcolm.
"The building administrator's name is — I can't remember his name, — but he is not smiley, he's somewhere-sixty, semi-deaf and barely speaks English. So yeah, positive!"
"OHÉ! DETECTIVE MALCOLM?!"
A woman got out of the elevator and waved the young detective 'hi' with a large smile across the face. She came forward in a overly joyful way.
Beckett looked around, worried that they would be disturbing.
"Detective Beckett, you are more beautiful in person," She shook her hand with enthusiasm. "I heard a lot of great things about you from Ricky and Mister Mayor."
"Denise? You are the Mayor's Denise? His private secretary?" Exclaimed Beckett putting the pieces together. The Mayor had three private secretaries. Denise was the most recognizable, always overly happy, it was almost as if she was signing when she talked. Most of all, she remembered Castle calling the Mayor through Denise on his first ever day at the precinct. It was even before he was assigned to her officially for 'research'. She even remembered the name of the victim; Alyson Tisdale, and what Castle had the arrogance to ask the Mayor, four years ago; to speed up the prints testing.
Understanding it all, she then turned to Malcolm, burning fire in her eyes and fists ready to punch his out of orbit; "You ordered a board from the Mayor's office?"
"You work at the Mayor's office?" Malcolm asked Denise on the same surprised tone.
"Yes. I was down at the Archives," explained the Mayor's secretary. She gestured a lot while she talked and explained how she got down there and saw Malcolm, "Poor Detective Malcolm scratching his head. When someone needs help; I am there to help. It's my job you know, to notice these things, I am not just talking calls for Mister Mayor. So I went up to him," and she ranted about the how and why of every piece of the story. "A white board I said, that's no problem! Made a quick call at the office, we have a few stored there that are not being used. I found him one. First thing in the morning they told me. Anything we can do for Mr. Castle's case."
"Mister Castle's case? She knows you working the case?" Beckett insisted to Malcolm.
"How is the case going, any developments?" Cut the secretary but went on before any of them could answer her. "The Mayor is devastated, you know? He was meeting with Captain Gates today about this probably. Mister Mayor wants to help. He wants to have fonds available for it. Please let's hope Mr. Castle is okay."
Her phone rang saving her from further awkwardness. "Beckett?" she said after excusing herself.
I am very sorry for the time it took to write and upload this; I had one of those major writer blockage. I can't guarantee that I'm through, but I'll say this: I have no intention of letting this story unfinished. Its plot is haunting me everyday and I need to exorcist it through writing.
Please review below.