Distracted by her thoughts, Beckett actually bumped into the mobster, but Martin caught her elbow before she had a chance to stumble and once he was certain she wasn't going to trip, he stepped back out of her personal space. Tired though she was from being up all night and getting up in the middle of the night before, Beckett recovered quickly.
"Mr. Martin. What are you doing here?"
She knew there was no way Esposito and Ryan had found him and asked him to join her down at the hospital so quickly – which meant that he was here for a different reason.
"I thought I'd check on Castle," Martin told her. "Make sure he was okay."
"He's not okay, Mr. Martin," she snapped, her own fear for Castle, and the fact that she'd just washed a large amount of his blood down the sink when all he'd done to deserve getting shot was to befriend a boy who was also as innocent in the whole thing as Castle. "He almost died. I have a lot of dead bodies, very few answers, and a friend who nearly bled to death in my arms tonight."
If Martin was angered at her tone of voice, he didn't show it. He simply nodded, his expression showing that he understood that Castle wasn't the only one that wasn't okay just then.
"Come with me, Detective," he requested, turning away from her. He didn't wait to see if she followed, but Beckett fell into step beside him only a moment later. They walked down the hall toward a couple of his men, who were standing outside a small doctor's lounge. One of them opened the door for them and Martin gestured for her to precede him into the room.
It was deserted, with a few small tables and chairs, a fridge, a sink and a large coffee pot that was burbling energetically. Martin walked over like he owned the place, took a couple of mugs and filled them with coffee and brought one over to her.
"Please, sit down."
She took the coffee, but she didn't sit down.
"Did you kill Agent Williams?"
"She's dead?"
Beckett scowled.
"I'm not in the mood for games, Mr. Martin."
"I'm not playing a game, Detective Beckett. But you certainly can't expected me to admit to murder just because you want to know what happened tonight."
He had a point. She might have hoped he answered, but even though he looked tired, too, she should have known he wasn't going to give himself away like that.
Beckett sighed, and sat down.
"Where's Joel?"
"With a doctor who's making sure whatever he was drugged with tonight didn't do any lasting harm."
"He was drugged?"
"Apparently. How's Castle?"
"He was still alive when we got here. They'll take care of him."
"That's good."
"Yeah." She took a sip of the coffee, and looked at him over the rim of the cup. "Theoretically… what do you think happened at The Elm?"
"Theoretically?" he asked, leaning back in the chair and ignoring his own coffee for the moment. "I'd say Nemich's man kidnapped Castle and Joel, called Nemich, who killed him for his troubles. Then-"
"You think Nemich would kill his own man?"
"He was ready to kill my son, Detective," Martin reminded her, and now his eyes flashed fury, but not towards Beckett. "He's Joel's godfather and he was willing to kill him. I'd say he would be more than capable of killing his own man. Theoretically."
"Then what?"
Martin shrugged.
"I'm not sure. Castle was tied. Joel was drugged and asleep. Nemich might have shot Castle, but the room isn't that big, and Nemich was a very good shot, so there's no way he wouldn't have killed him outright if he wanted him dead."
"You think someone else shot Castle?"
"No. I think Nemich did it, only not intentionally – or he might have been interrupted as he was firing the bullet, which could have made his shot go wild."
"And Agent Williams?"
"She almost certainly shot Nemich. No one else makes sense."
"You."
He shook his head.
"If I had Nemich to myself, I wouldn't have shot him for what he did to Joel and Marissa."
"No?"
"It was a clean shot. He died quickly. I would have made him suffer."
"Like tying him to a chair and burning him alive?"
"I don't know what you mean, Detective."
"Right." She took another sip of her coffee. It wasn't very good, but it was helping her gain her equilibrium once more. "So Williams killed Nemich – hypothetically – and he shoots Castle. What then?"
"Williams is a cop – was a cop. She kills someone – even a gun-runner – and the last thing she's going to want is a witness."
"So she shoots Castle?"
He shook his head.
"Castle was already shot, remember? He's tied up, not going anywhere. All she needs to do is let him bleed to death and she can blame it on Nemich, proving to the whole world how amazing she is for killing him."
Beckett frowned.
"You think she'd do that?"
"You met her?"
"Yeah."
"What do you think?"
Beckett didn't reply, but the thought was chilling. And she knew it would have worked.
"It's all just theoretical," he reminded her.
"I know."
But she knew it was probably pretty close to the truth. The cop in her told her it was, and she trusted that little voice. It had kept her alive more than once.
"What about-"
"Detective Kate Beckett please report to the Emergency room admitting desk. Detective Kate Beckett, please report to Emergency admitting…"
She set her coffee down and stood up.
"I need to go," she said, unnecessarily. "Are you going to stick around?"
He shook his head.
"I'm going to spend the day with Joel."
"I'm glad he's okay. He's really a sweetheart."
Martin smiled, looking far more like a proud dad than a mobster just then.
"Thank you."
"There will be an inquiry, of course."
"I imagine so," he agreed. "I have a room of people who will swear I was nowhere near the Elm last night."
"Or the Warehouse?"
"I wasn't near the Warehouse." He shooed her away when the intercom repeated the summons for her to return to the Emergency room. "Don't worry, Detective. I'm not planning on leaving town."
"I'll be in touch."
"You do that."
She turned and left, feeling a little less uncertain, but definitely conflicted. She was a cop, after all. Just then, however, she had other things to worry about.
OOOOOOOOOO
She arrived at the desk slightly out of breath. The nurse recognized her and waved her into the rear area of the emergency room, where only patients and family were allowed.
"How is he?"
The nurse shrugged.
"I'm not sure. They just asked me to make sure you were here because he's out of surgery."
"Already?"
"It was a clean wound," came another voice, and Beckett realized a doctor had come up on them while they were talking. He was dressed in scrubs similar to the ones she was wearing; only his were spattered with crimson. "The bullet didn't do much damage to muscle or tissue, but it nicked an artery – which is why he bled so badly."
"Is he going to be okay?"
The doctor nodded.
"He'll be weak and tired until the transfusions take hold, and we'll give him something for the pain, but he should be on his feet in a couple of days."
She let loose the breath she'd been holding.
"Thank God. Can I see him?"
"He's in recovery." The doctor gestured toward the corridor to their right. "First door on the left. Just remember; he's going to be groggy."
"Thank you."