A/N: Please Note - this fic is now rated "M"
Fourteen
When Castle awoke that morning, he noted that the sun was already shining brilliantly through the windows of Kate's apartment meaning that, more than likely, she had already left for work. Glancing at the clock he knew that to be true; it was just after nine.
After taking a trip to the bathroom, Castle went to the kitchen and waited for coffee to brew. Mug in hand, he returned to the couch and noticed for the first time the laptop sitting on the coffee table. When he walked around to the laptop's open side, he spotted the note Kate had left for him.
Castle-
The precinct employment records are saved on the desktop. Pls review. Let me know if you find anything.
Thx, Kate
"Okay, Castle," he said, cracking the knuckles of both hands. "Let's see what kind of magic you can work today."
He began reviewing the PDF documents on the screen, but quickly realized that was an incredibly inconvenient way of studying them as it required far too much clicking back and forth. He really needed to print the records and lay them out in order to best process them. After looking around Kate's apartment for a few minutes, he found a printer, hooked it up to the laptop, and printed out the pages he needed, which actually ended up being many more than he realized. Now he understood why Kate had said this would not be the easiest task; each precinct had lengthy employment records.
Castle decided it would be best to lay the documents out in three rows: one for each precinct. In doing so, he would review each name on the list and highlight any names he found on more than one list. This task sounded simple enough, but it soon felt very daunting.
The lists displayed the last name, first name of each officer, plus their badge number and date of beginning and ending (if applicable) employment per precinct. As they were in alphabetical order by last name, Castle began with the A's and worked his way down. Halfway through the alphabet, he was beginning to lose hope, but finally, when he reached the P's, a named jumped out at him. "Samuel Petershim." He read from the first list, the fifteenth precinct. "Interesting," he commented to himself, wondering if Samuel had any relation to Al, the Petershim he had met while working with Tony.
Continuing down the lists, Castle did not find that name in the second group, but on the third group he found the name Allen Petershim. Allen Petershim was listed as a detective at the eighth precinct four years earlier—the same precinct as Anthony Senior at the exact time as Anthony's death. Castle highlighted both Petershim names over and over until the ink was practically bleeding through the paper. "Got you, you son of a bitch."
Castle immediately grabbed the burner phone and texted Kate to return to her apartment as soon as she could. As he waited, he continued through the remaining names on the list just for good measure, but there were no other names in common, only the Petershims.
By the time Kate arrived home, Castle's entire body was buzzing both from fury and the adrenaline of finally finding the lead they needed. When she walked through the door, he nearly pounced on her. "I got him! I got him! That little fucker has been under our nose the whole time!"
"What? Who? You got who?" Kate asked.
He grabbed her arm, pulling her into the dining room where his papers were displayed. Pointing at the highlighted sheet furthest from them he began his tale. "I was looking for names that overlapped in these precincts and I noticed Samuel Petershim's name from the fifteenth. I thought hmm, isn't that odd—Petershim doesn't seem like that common of a name. Then, from the eighth—the same precinct as Anthony Senior—Allen Petershim, which I'm willing to bet is the full name of Al Petershim, Tony's partner at the eleventh." Looking at Kate wide-eyed, Castle concluded, "This isn't a coincidence."
Kate shook her head slowly, the ramifications of their discovery washing over her. "No, I don't imagine it is."
"It's them—it has to be them. They must be brothers or cousins or something. Somehow, one or both of them are the grand masters of it all." Castle took a deep breath and began his story—the story his brain had formulated to explain it all. "The Petershims hatch the plan: take the evidence off drug dealers, sell it back to the dealers, pocket the cash and say, 'Oops, the evidence got lost. Oh well!' With no evidence, the dealer goes back out onto the street and everybody wins. They get their friends in on it, their partners. Evidence logs and reports get fudged and they're making tons of money to boot.
"Then along comes old Anthony who works at the same precinct as Al. Maybe he smelled something fishy—maybe he saw something—but he figures out what they're doing and he decides he wants in. Either because he doesn't want to share or because Anthony threatened to turn him in, Petershim has him killed. Years later, he takes young Tony under his wing—to watch him, discourage him from investigating his father's case. The case on which he penned the incident report, padded so that it would be swallowed as an accident.
"Somehow, through this watching, Petershim realizes that Tony and I have begun to work the case in spite of his discouragement. Maybe he was watching Pamela Mackey too, so he knew when she was contacted by Tony. Petershim realizes how close they are so he kills them both, planning the perfect double murder to clean up all the loose ends and use an innocent writer as a scapegoat. Bastard!"
Kate took a deep breath and looked at him. "That's a great story, Castle, but we can't prove any of it."
"There's got to be evidence somewhere—a trail of money coming into Petershim's accounts. He's got to be laundering it somehow," Castle insisted.
"Yes, I agree, but we can't just go at this guns blazing. Accusing a cop of something like this is a very serious offense, Castle; one we can't take lightly. We need to have facts lined up before this goes anywhere," she explained. "Unfortunately, all we have right now is circumstantial; we're not going to get a warrant for Petershim's financials with what we have."
"But it's him! Or them! It's got to be, right?" Castle asked.
She nodded. "It looks that way. Look, let me do some digging, okay. Just sit tight. I know—I know," she added at his impatient expression. "Just trust me Castle, okay? Stay here and wait for me to contact you. Can you do that?"
"Yeah, yeah," he grumbled, looking back to the pages with the Petershim names highlighted. "Just try to find something to nail this guy, okay?"
Kate smiled and patted his arm in a silent promise. Then, with renewed determination, she returned to the FBI field office.
After skimming a few more traffic cameras to give the appearance that she was working on her assignment, Kate opened an internet window to the Google homepage and typed Samuel Petershim's name into the search engine. As expansive as the FBI databases were, sometimes it was best to start simple, which was why she went directly to Google.
Scrolling through the results for just a few moments led her to an obituary stating that Samuel Petershim, retired NYPD police officer, had passed away of natural causes at the age of 62 just a few days after Thanksgiving the prior year. The article also listed he was survived by a younger brother, Allen. "Well, I guess that settles that," Kate said quietly to herself. With Samuel out of the picture, only one possible Petershim remained a suspect.
From her purse, Kate retrieved the burner phone and texted Castle. S Petershim died last yr. Still looking into Al. In response she received the eloquent: son of a bitch!
Sitting at her desk, traffic camera up on her screen to give the appearance of working, Kate thought about the situation. She had no facts that Al Petershim was involved. Everything they had was circumstantial. He was Tony's partner. He wrote the incident report on Anthony's accident. His brother was at one of the precincts experiencing mysteriously missing evidence—nothing that any judge in their right mind would grant a warrant for.
At that point, Kate saw her advantages as limited to only one: the element of surprised. She had never met Al Petershim. As far as he know, she had never even heard of him in any other capacity that he occasionally shared a squad car with the detective who had passed away one week earlier. He didn't know—nor would he suspect—she was aware of his backstory.
The move was risky and not always prosperous, but it was one she had used in the past to some degree of success. If she could approach Petershim as though she was just there to casually question him, it was possible she could catch him off guard, possibly resulting in him tipping his hand and revealing something she could use. Or, another possibility, would be to smoke him out—spook him in the hopes he would lead her to someone she could go after. Since it was the only move she could come up with, she knew she had to try.
Valuing the efficiency of time over hiding her movements, Kate borrowed a vehicle from the FBI motor pool and headed to the NYPD's eleventh precinct office where Petershim worked out of. After parking her sedan amongst the blue-and-whites on the street, Kate walked inside, flashed her badge and requested to speak with Detective Petershim.
The male officer manning the first floor desk apologized, stating that Petershim was not on duty that day. Kate flashed a smile, placed her forearm across the top edge of the counter by his desk and leaned her chest over it, causing the slightest bit of cleavage to show above the edge of her blouse. This was not a move she was proud of, but sometimes it became necessary.
With a flirtatious demeanor, she asked the young officer to provide her with Petershim's home address, stating that she was on important FBI business and speaking with Petershim was imperative to her assignment. Though the officer hedged for several moments, Kate eventually won him over and walked out of the Eleventh with the address on a yellow stickie note clasped in her left hand.
Back in her vehicle, Kate tapped the address into her phone's GPS system. The moment she saw the tiny dot appear on the Manhattan grid, all reservations she had about Petershim being their man went out the window. As a former NYPD Detective, she knew (give or take) what Petershim's salary was and, assuming he was not also a lottery winner, the area in which he lived was most assuredly out of his income range.
Twenty minutes later, Kate pulled her vehicle in front of Petershim's building and stepped out. She flashed her badge to the doorman and he ushered her inside with a smile. In the elevator, Kate pulled out her phone, started the recording ap, and then tucked it back into the breast pocket of her blazer. She double checked the stickie note in her pocket once more when she stepped off the elevator on the third floor. From there, she walked south down the hall to reach Petershim's apartment.
Kate knocked on the door, clasped her hands in front of her and waited. And waited. And waited some more. Just when she was about to knock again, the door opened and a balding man in his mid-fifties appeared. He was wearing a dark dress shirt, mostly unbuttoned displaying a white undershirt, dress pants, and loafers. "Can I help you?"
"Yes are you Detective Petershim?" Kate asked, plastering on a smile. The man bobbed his head. Kate pulled back the bottom corner of her jacket to reveal the badge hanging off her belt. "Agent Kate Beckett, FBI. I know it's your day off, sir, and I don't mean to bother you, but I just want to ask you a few questions about Detective Tony Ciardi. If you don't mind?" she added with as sweet a smile as she could muster.
Petershim nodded and ushered her inside. "Of course, anything for the FBI. But…I thought you guys were chasing that writer guy?"
Kate nodded, standing beside him in the entryway. "Yes, we are, but I'm just trying to get more of the backstory in case that helps us locate Mr. Castle. As you may have heard, he's been a bit elusive to us."
Petershim deep laugh came out as a hybrid laugh-cough, as though he'd been a heavy smoker for many years. "Yeah I've heard as much."
Deciding to get right down to business, Kate began, "I've been told Mr. Castle was originally supposed to shadow you on the job, isn't that correct?"
Petershim nodded and took two steps towards the sitting room area of the apartment; Kate followed. "Yeah, my CO set that up. Look, I didn't mind helping the guy out, you know? But he became a bit more of a nuisance than I originally imagined. I just couldn't let him interrupt investigations. I'm sure you can understand that."
Kate suppressed a chuckle. From what she knew about Castle and his astounding lack of ability to follow simple instructions over his own whims, she could only imagine how irritating he would be as a shadow, no matter how helpful his insights were at times. "Oh believe me, I do."
"Please why don't you have a seat?" Petershim said, gesturing towards the seating area against the opposite wall complete with a leather couch and two matching chairs in a deep cranberry tone. "What did you say your name was again? Beckett? You didn't use to be a cop, did you?"
"Yes, actually I-" Kate stopped short when she reached the couch, turned and saw Petershim standing holding a weapon on her. On instinct, her right hand shot to her hip holster, grasped the grip on her weapon and began to unsheathe it, but she was just a moment too slow. Before the muzzle of the gun was pointed at Petershim, he had pulled the trigger.
Fortunately, his weapon was a stun gun and the spines of the cartridge struck her blazer before going into her flesh, slightly reducing the voltage she received. The charge still sent her directly to the floor. She attempted to grab on to the couch, but instead rolled beside it, losing her service weapon in the process.
The electricity coursing through her felt like it lasted forever, causing every cell in her body to vibrate uncontrollably. In reality, she knew the attack was only a few seconds long. After it was over her, Petershim approached and stared down at her with a wicked expression. "Oh I know all about you, Ms. Beckett and your new best friend, Mr. Castle."
Kate went to gasp, but found her mouth was not yet under her control. Instead, the noise came out as mostly a moan mixed with a heavy exhale.
Petershim crouched down by her knees and gazed down at her as though one would look upon a wounded animal. "Yes, we've been watching you all this time. I've been waiting—waiting for you to fuck up and hang yourselves. All I wanted to do was put away that nosy writer, but if I ended up getting the former best homicide detective in the NYPD in the process that would only sweeten the deal. Tell me, Ms. Beckett, how is it that you were such a good investigator and you didn't see this coming?"
Fury aiding in the recovery of her senses, Kate honed all her energy into pushing herself off the floor. She knew she would never be able to stand fully upright, but that was okay since Petershim was crouching. All she had to do was move forward into him enough to disrupt his balance and buy herself a few seconds.
She planted her hands beneath her and used every ounce of strength she had to push herself forward and into Petershim. Unfortunately, he saw the attack coming and was able to brush her off as though she were a piece of lint. She flew forward into one arm of the couch. With her arms outstretched, she knocked a lamp from the table next to it and landed with her chin crashing down into the cushy couch arm.
Her teeth rattling from their sharp impact, Kate scrambled on the floor and towards her gun, but Petershim anticipated her movement. He grabbed a fistful of her hair at the back of her head and slammed her down hard into the floor. She was just able to turn her head fast enough so she struck the ground with her eyebrow and cheek bone rather than her nose taking the full brunt of the blow.
As Petershim stepped over her, Kate attempted to push herself up into plank position, get her feet underneath her and then slowly stand. She managed half this task before the back of Petershim's hand came crashing into her jaw. In her weakened state, this was enough to send her to the floor, where she landed with a moan, the taste of blood filling her mouth.
"Maybe you did know," Petershim continued as he casually kicked her gun away. It skidded on the hardwood and landed a few feet from the entry way. "Yes, maybe you did and maybe you thought you could take me in yourself. How…adorable." He cocked his head to the side and gazed down at her. For a moment, his expression was bemused. Then, as he reached for the fallen lamp, she could see the poison slowly seeping in.
"Why?" Kate choked out. She rolled onto her back, an act that, in her battered state, felt akin to running a marathon. "Why did you kill Anthony?"
Lamp in hand, Petershim turned back to her. "Which Anthony? Well, I guess it doesn't matter. I may as well tell you." Petershim yanked the lamp power cord from the wall and began to wind the plug end around his left fist. He stepped over her, his feet even with her belly button. She held her arms out straight in front of her as an attempt to fight him off, but he smacked her arms down and knelt on her biceps. Despite all the clawing she did at his ankles, she was hopelessly pinned.
"Old Anthony thought he was so fucking smart—trying to blackmail me, my brother, my partners into more money. He was a fucking idiot—a moron," Petershim spat. He pressed the lamp cord sharply underneath Kate's jaw and she coughed, unable to do a thing to stop him.
"He didn't know shit about detective work. He—and I believe even you would agree with this Ms. Beckett—was a pathetic excuse for a detective. I did the world a favor by creating that accident. It was so perfectly executed…" He turned his eyes to the ceiling and chuckled, clearly proud of the work he'd done.
"Pamela calling in that faulty child abduction tip. Anthony racing in to save the day and WHAM." With the force of the word, Petershim pressed the lamp cord tighter against Kate's throat and she could feel the restriction beginning in her windpipe. "The fucker becomes a bug on the windshield of giant truck. Such a perfect accident…until young Anthony and that goddamned writer stuck his nose into it."
As her flow of oxygen decreased, Kate made a desperate attempt to kick her feet up and give herself a way to escape, but this action did nothing. Petershim was pinning her torso down to the ground too tightly.
"Don't get me wrong," he continued, "Anthony wasn't a bad kid—in a few years he might have actually been a decent detective, but he was too goddamned nosy for his own good. I tried to tell him to leave it alone, but he wouldn't listen, not with that writer nipping at his heels whispering conspiracy theories in his ear. I thought I could get away with just him but then Pamela grew a conscience and…well, you know the rest." Petershim's grin changed from one of pure evil to one of entertainment.
"A little Chloroform, a few injections of untraceable this and that and that writer had absolutely no idea what happened after he left his apartment that night." He coiled the power cord tighter around her neck as he spoke. She choked, his eyelids flared wider and he pulled the cord just a millimeter tighter. "It just a shame you won't be able to tell anyone."
"I wouldn't count on that."
Petershim's gaze shot up to see Castle standing a few feet away, gun pointed directly at him. He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, Castle squeezed the trigger, shooting a bullet directly into Petershim's left shoulder.
Howling out a curse, Petershim's grip on the lamp cord immediately slackened. Grabbing his bleeding left arm, he staggered to a stand and took one step towards Castle. "Don't move or I'll shoot you again," Castle warned, but Petershim clearly did not believe him, because he laughed and took another step in Castle's direction. Making good on his threat, Castle lowered his gauntlet of the weapon and squeezed off one more round. That time, it landed in Petershim's right upper thigh.
With Petershim on the ground and momentarily incapacitated, Castle hurried around the seating area to check on Kate, but it appeared her rate of recovery was quicker than he anticipated, because by the time he reached her side, she was already on her knees, flipping Petershim onto his back and cuffing him. He whimpered out in agony when she wrenched his right arm behind him and she Mirandized him, though her voice was as gravely as he'd ever heard it.
"Are you okay?" Castled asked Kate when she'd finished her Miranda speech.
As though she'd just noticed him in the room, Kate shot to her feet, practically jumped the two foot distance between them, and locked her arms around his neck. Castle reciprocated the hug with one arm while the other loosely held the gun on Petershim. "What are you doing here?" Kate asked breathily into his ear.
"I thought you might be doing something stupid and I didn't want to miss out," he told her with a laugh. She pulled back and stared at him with utmost amazement. Castle brought his free hand up and touched the bleeding spot on her eyebrow gingerly. "Are you sure you're okay—Hey!" He turned his gaze towards Petershim, who appeared to be attempting to clamber to his feet. "Move and die motherfucker!"
"Castle!" Kate scolded, reaching out for her service weapon she slid it from his grip.
Castle looked at her wide-eyed. "He framed me for murder!" Kate held his gaze for a moment, her expression warning, but then she shrugged and turned back to Petershim, knowing that Castle had more than a little right to be completely livid.
"You didn't by any chance record his confession did you?" Castle asked cautiously.
Smiling at him with a sideways gaze, Kate dipped her free hand into her suit jacket, pulled out her iPhone and stopped recording. "What am I? A rookie?"
Castle face looked like it was going to explode right off his skull. While punching both fists in the air, he did a little leap of joy. "I love you so much right now!" he said to her. She laughed and leaned into him, nudging his arm with her shoulder. He turned to face her, touched her cheek with the backs of his knuckles and held her gaze for a moment. Just before she was about to lean her face towards his, their moment was interrupted by a thundering sound at the front door.
Kate gauntleted her weapon and turned it towards the entry way only to see a phalanx of FBI agents piling in, announcing themselves. Kate held her weapon out to the side in a non-aggressive stance and pulled back her suit jacket revealing her badge. "It's okay, I'm FBI," she announced before making a show of dropping her weapon onto a neighboring chair.
As the agents trained their guns on her, Castle, and Petershim, Agent Banner pushed his way to the front of the pack. "FBI! This is—Beckett!" he shrieked out when he saw her. "What in the goddamn hell are—Castle! Arrest him! Arrest that man!" Banner nearly jumped up and down as he pointed in Castle's direction.
Kate immediately stepped in front of him, holding her hands out. "No don't! He's innocent and we can prove it."
"We!?" Banner asked incredulously. "No, we got an anonymous tip that Mr. Castle was in this area and he will not get away—not this time!"
Kate swept her hand towards the groaning and bleeding man on the floor. "The man you need to arrest is Detective Petershim. He's responsible for the deaths of both Detectives Ciardi and Pamela Mackey."
As two FBI agents pulled Petershim to his feet, Banner took a step forward, narrowing his eyes at Kate. "Beckett, if you have been aiding in this fugitive's elusive tactics I'll have your badge."
"No, you won't," Kate told him firmly. "Not after I show you all the evidence we've uncovered."
"I can't wait," Banner said with notable sarcasm. Kate turned towards the apartment exit, gesturing for Castle to follow her when Banner stopped them again. "I cannot let him walk out of here unless he's in handcuffs."
Kate glanced between a smirking Castle and Banner. "Don't worry, sir; I'll keep him in check."