"She said Strawberry Fields, right?" Ryan said, eyeing the path into Central Park.
"Nothing around the church, so why not?" Espo nodded, and they headed in. A few other men and women in suits and pencil skirts flitted by, purses and briefcases in tow, lunch in hand.
The sunlight flitted through the trees, bathing the walkway in a warm green glow. It was shaping up to be a decent Spring, and a few classes of school kids trickled by them as they scanned the area.
A few old couples sat here and there on benches and outcroppings of rocks that bordered the carefully tended garden beds.
Subtly, Ryan elbowed his colleague, trying to remain inconspicuous.
"What, bro?" Espo said, not looking at him.
"Park bench, two o'clock. Pigeons." Kevin checked his watch.
"You're kidding me. Kev, there's no way that's our guy."
"Oh that's him; after a few thousand bucks and a good shave, that is," the detective said, frowning. "The usual, Javi?"
"Yeah. I've got your back."
Castle didn't pray. He hadn't as a kid, didn't as a teen, and never bothered to start as an adult. There was some question as to whether or not he even qualified as an adult, some days, but that was beside the point. He'd never prayed before. He wasn't sure what you were supposed to say.
He found himself chanting, regardless, over and over to himself in the dark.
"Beckett. I'm here, and I'm gone. They're not coming back, this'll break, and I'm gone. Beckett. I'm here, and I'm gone," he whispered, partly to keep his lips moving, partly to keep awake, and, deep down, in the hopes that something somewhere would hear it and take pity on him.
He'd lost count of the minutes he'd spent poking holes in the thick wrapping of duct tape around his wrists, sawing back and forth, wiggling the pen tip around to widen any tears he could get to.
He'd dropped the thing twice, and had to waste time and energy fumbling in the frigid darkness just to scrape it back into his fingers, but he couldn't give up.
Not anytime soon, at least. He'd stopped thinking, for the most part; it became a series of simple commands from the brain to his stiff, half-dead limbs. Lean left. Twist right. Forward. Shift your grip. Easy, simple commands that didn't require much effort on his mind's part.
There was nothing else in the silence except the awkward scritch scritch of his pen, and the ominous rumble of the subways.
Just keep going. Just have to keep going.
"Beckett." Scritch. "I'm here, and I'm gone." Scritch, Scri-scritch scritch. "I'm here and I'm gone. I'm here. Beckett..."
"Excuse me, sir, but are you Wallace Filmore? My name is Detective Kev-" Ryan began, but the man stood and chucked the contents of his brown paper bag right at the detective's face and scrambled away.
"Stop! Police!" Ryan called out, giving chase. He sped down the pathway, branches swatting at his face. He twisted around pedestrians and strollers that littered the pathway, staring after them for the briefest of moments before continuing on with their day. 'That's New York all right,' he thought, veering towards the Alice in Wonderland statue.
He stopped dead at the fork in the path though, as he found Wally lying on the ground, dazed.
"Told you I got you, bro," Javi said with a grin.
"Alright, let's try this again," Beckett said, wanting to clench her teeth. "What do you know about this man?" She set the photograph of the hobo down in front of Morrison, and flashed her eyes at him. She knew she should sit down, enhance the appearance of an unhurried investigation that could take a few hours. That would encourage some discomfort and, by extension, some disgruntled cooperation from the suspect. Unfortunately, sitting still was a luxury she simply couldn't force herself to take right now.
"I've never seen him before. Who is he supposed to be?" Mr. Morrison frowned, dismissing the picture with a flick of his thin, spidery fingertips. He crossed them and settled back in the chair awkwardly, obviously trying to look comfortable and cool, despite the stiff seat.
"Someone you paid off very well for a service yesterday evening. Sound familiar? I don't suppose you know how much you gave him, exactly, do you?" She raised a brow and slid the shot of Wally cradling the money that as good as bought Castle's life. She held her expression rigid, scowling internally.
"Why would I do something like that?" He barely made eye contact. Obviously, he wasn't used to getting his hands dirty, and his cold detachment was more than Beckett could stand.
"I'm getting tired of the run around here, Heath." Use their first name. Get personal. Business men like him always got called 'Sir' or 'Mr. Morrison'. Bruise the ego slightly, and remind them, likely to their chagrin, that they are not above the law. "How about you tell me the truth, and we'll see how bad things really look for you. Someone like you ought to be able to know how to make a deal."
"You say that as if I'm lying, detective. Honestly, why am I even here? I haven't done anything wrong."
The skin around his mouth tightened. He seemed irritated, and his attorney looked bored. Good. Now was a good moment to try and gain sympathy; humanize the case. The result would be one of two possible outcomes: either an emotional outburst, or a complete lack of empathy. Beckett had a plan for both. She was good at story telling too, in her own way.
"Well, Wallace Filmore here, divorced, two children, three grandchildren he probably doesn't know about, was laid off from one of your firms, and he seems to think you could tell me why he was here at this scene yesterday," Beckett said pointedly.
"Who gives a- I mean- Look. If you dragged me down here to talk about some hobo I laid off, then you are wasting both our time. I can't be expected to know everyone I've ever hired or fired- do I look like a secretary to you? Unless you're charging me with something, detective, I'm leaving." Morrison huffed, laying his palms flat on the table at the end of his rant.
"You'll forgive me then, if I waste your time with this, then, right?" Beckett said flatly. She slapped down the shots Ryan pulled off the traffic cams, and the man blanched as his beady eyes fell on the incriminating image of himself and the homeless man side by side.
"Now. Deal or no deal?"