Chapter 26

The Case of Home Is Where The Heart Stops

Part 2

Unfortunately our interviews with the other home invasion victims turned out to be a bust. None of them were able to provide any further information other than what they had already provided to the police. You can well imagine what Beckett's frustration level was, yes you guessed it, it was bordering on eleven.

I had noticed it in the car on the ride back to the precinct. Now, normally I would have been more than happy to offer her my services to relieve her frustration. I know quite a few toe-curling methods of frustration relief. Wisely, I did not put to voice to what I think would have been a most generous offer. I only had to see the look on her face to know that my offer would have crashed and burned under her withering glare. Instead we discussed the case, going over what we had, speculating, trying to build theory. The sum total of this exercise? Nada, zilch, nothing. We were basically at the same place we had been this morning.

Beckett's frustrated disposition was lightened somewhat when we arrived in the bullpen to be told by Esposito that he and Ryan had picked up a suspect. She even managed a little smile. The smile grew even bigger when she pulled rank and informed the boys that she was going to question Mitchell. The looks on their faces was priceless, you'd think Beckett had killed their pet goldfish. The boys were wise enough not to argue with her. After all she was she was the lead detective on the case, and she was taller than either Esposito or Ryan.

Beckett and I were standing in the observation room peering through the window into the the interrogation room. Evan Mitchell was sitting at the table alone seemingly unworried that he had found himself once again inside a police precinct. He was aged in his forties with more than a few of those years clearly etched on his on his weathered face.

Also with us in the observation room was Captain Montgomery. He had been perusing through Mitchell's file. Beckett had spent a little time familiarising herself with Mitchell's rap sheet in preparation for the coming interview. Mitchell had been cooling his heels in the interrogation room for a about an hour.

The door to the observation room opened and in walked Ryan and Esposito. Ryan had a smile on his face as he held up a plastic evidence bag which contained a gun.

"Say hello to his little friend." Ryan announced, in what I thought was the worst Tony Montana impersonation I had ever heard. No one else thought to make comment on it and simply ignored the impersonation.

"It was in his waistband when we snatched him up." Esposito informed us.

Ryan passed the gun over to Beckett who inspected it carefully.

"Serial numbers are scratched off." Beckett observed.

"Heavy on collars, light on convictions." Captain Montgomery remarked as he closed the file he had been studying. He passed the file across to Beckett, who opened it up and skimmed through it one more time.

"Amazing how many times can a guy can get arrested without ever serving time." Ryan said, as she stared at Mitchell through the glass.

"He must have a good lawyer." I suggested.

"Or good at what he does." Captain Montgomery supplied.

"Good enough to be our perp?" I asked.

"Why do you writers always call them perps?" Ryan asked me.

"Isn't that what you call them?"

"We got a whole lot of names for them." Ryan grinned.

"Yeah." Esposito agreed.

"Pipehead, pisshead, ork, creep." Ryan offered.

"Crook, knucklehead, chucklehead." Esposito added.

I could not get my notebook out fast enough. I hurriedly began to write down the names Ryan and Esposito were giving me.

"Chud, turd." Ryan said.

"Destro, skell." Esposito replied.

"Skeksi, slicko, slick." Ryan offered.

"Mope." Esposito volleyed back.

"Sleestack."

I could not get the names down fast enough.

"Slow down, slow down." I called out.

Beckett had enough about this school yard game Ryan and Esposito were playing.

"Suspects." She announced in a firm voice. She glanced at Ryan and Esposito as she headed for the door. "We call them suspects."

"I'm old school." Montgomery said, not wanting to be left out. "I like 'dirtbag'"

"Classic!"

I quickly wrote that one down in the pad before I scurried out of the observation room to join Beckett. Even though I had not gotten all the words down that Ryan and Esposito were bandying about, I made a mental note to catch up with them later to go over and make sure I got all the names down.

Beckett opened the door to the interrogation room.

"Tell me about the gun, Mr Mitchell." Beckett said as she swept in and sat down opposite Mitchell.

"Oh, I'm not talking with out a lawyer." Mitchell replied with a smirk.

I eased myself against the wall beside the door. Beckett leaned back in her chair and regarded Mitchell.

"Why? You guilty of something?" She said.

"Yeah. Not running fast enough when your boys showed." Mitchell smirked.

"Where were you last night between five and nine?" Beckett asked.

Mitchell laughed. "I didn't do it?"

"You didn't do what?"

"Doesn't matter what." Mitchell smiled and shrugged his shoulders. "Wherever you think I was, I wasn't."

Beckett nodded her head as she regarded Mitchell. As tough nuts go, I was getting the distinct impression he was one of the toughest. Still, my money was on Beckett.

"So where were you, then?" Beckett asked.

"Happy hour. Little neighbourhood place, drinking Belfast Carbombs with some of my Westie pals." Mitchell smirked again.

"You got anyone who can verify that for me?" Beckett asked him.

"Yeah." Mitchell nodded his head. "I got about thirty people who can, conservative estimate."

Beckett could not keep the disbelief from her face.

"How come I get this crazy hunch that most of those people got records a lot like yours?" She said.

"Well I wasn't drinking tea at the Plaza." Mitchell retorted. "Look if you want more reliable witnesses? Give me an hour or so, I'll see what I can do."

"You must be well connected." I suggested. "Friends in high places."

Mitchell cast a glance in my direction and then looked quickly away but I caught the smirk on his face. He looked at Beckett.

"Who's Mary with the manicure?" he sniggered. "I know he's not a cop, not with that haircut."

"I'm assisting Detective Beckett in the investigation." I replied.

Mitchell grinned at Beckett.

"Assisting? What's the matter, sweetie? You can't hack it out there alone?"

"You want to play?" Beckett said coldly.

It was the wrong thing Mitchell could have said. It was bad enough that he called Beckett 'sweetie' a big mistake at the best of times but he compounded the error by asking if she couldn't hack it out there alone. I caught the dangerous undertone in her voice. Retribution would not be long in coming.

Suddenly Beckett grabbed the edge of the table with both hands and shoved it hard against Mitchell. She stood up and leaned over, up close and personal. Mitchell winced at the impact of the edge of the table in his stomach.

"Let's play." Beckett told him angrily. "I got an ex-con with a gun and two fresh homicides just looking for a home."

Who writes her dialogue? Wow. That was better than some of my own stuff, I thought.

Mitchell winced a little. It must have hurt having his stomach stop the table but he recovered quickly. The smirk returned to his face.

"You can fish all you want, Detective Beckett." Mitchell said in a low voice. Slowly he turned to look up her. "Smart fish don't bite."

For all intents and purposes that was the end of the interview with Evan Mitchell. Beckett got nothing out of him. I could now see why his rap sheet was high on collars but light on convictions. He was a real tough nut to crack. He wasn't intimidated by being interrogated by the police because he was well used to it, probably got his training when he was in his youth. So, okay I lost this bet. Let me tell you though, I would always put my money on Detective Beckett.

XXX

Beckett was a decidedly unhappy camper when she marched out of the interrogation room. That unhappiness turned to anger after she spoke to Captain Montgomery. He told her that they could hold Mitchell on the gun that the boys had found on him when they picked him up but as there was no match with the ballistics on the Delgado case, and without other evidence link him to the other homicide Mitchell could not be charged.

Beckett of course insisted that she could find something. Montgomery then told her that Mitchell was being arraigned on an unrelated burglary on the same day when this crew had first struck. Basically it did not look like Mitchell was a part of this crew.

I was not present to witness this exchange between Captain Montgomery and Beckett. The exchange was witnessed by a detective who wishes to remain anonymous. When I did come around looking for her in the bullpen I found that she was not there. I was told that she had stormed off.

XXX

If Beckett had been turned down by the Captain there was no doubt that she would be seething with anger. I decided to be Daniel and venture into the lion's den, or in this particular case, the lioness' den.

There was only one problem with that. I did not know where said den was. Not to worry though, I set off to find her. I had to ask a few people if they had seen Beckett. Thankfully a uniform pointed me in the direction of the precinct's firing range.

The firing range was located in the basement and was heavily sound proofed. That's understandable, you don't want to be hearing the sound of gunfire going off all the time when you're trying to interrogate a suspect, or when you're trying to do paperwork. It can be somewhat distracting.

On entering the range I was greeted by the sound of rapid gunfire. Rounding the corner I saw a row of firing bays with each one partitioned off. At the far end of the row there stood Beckett, safety glasses on as well as ear protectors, taking aim and firing rapidly at a silhouette target.

"You got to watch those silhouettes." I called out as I approached. "They can be shifty bastards."

Beckett turned and looked at me.

"Do you mind? I'm trying to concentrate." Beckett said.

"Man, when I hit a wall, all I got is one of those little stress balls and internet porn." I told her.

"Castle..."

"Look, I get it, alright?" I continued. "You made a promise to a daughter to find her mother's killer. Doesn't take Freud to see what's what."

That was the reason for Beckett's anger. It was because of the promise that she had made to Joanne Delgado, not because Mitchell turned out not to be part of the home invasion crew. She had made a promise and things had turned out where she could not keep that promise.

"You're going to run up some blind alleys before you get out of the maze." I added.

"Look, as much as I appreciate your folksy Dr Phil aphorisms, I just want to..."

Beckett did not complete the sentence. She turned to face the target lifted up her gun and started firing at the target. As soon as she started firing I had to plug my ears with my fingers. I have to say that I was rather impressed with Beckett's shooting. Also, she looked so hot as she shot at the target. I did not mention that to her. She was holding a gun and she was angry. I did not want to end up being shot by her.

"Wouldn't it be more of a challenge if they weren't standing still?" I shouted above the gunshots. Just because Beckett was angry did not mean I couldn't joke with her.

Beckett stopped shooting and glanced at me. Reaching a decision she ejected the magazine from her gun and replaced it with a fresh clip. She set the gun down on the stand and turned to look at me.

"Okay, Castle." Beckett waved to her gun. "You show me how it's done."

My eyes lit up with delight. I could not believe she was going to let me fire the gun. I had not expected that. I reached for some safety glasses and ear protectors while Beckett replaced the silhouette with a new one. Now wearing the proper safety equipment I stepped up to the stand and picked up the gun from the stand and assumed a dueller's stance.

"It's not a duel, Scaramouche." Beckett said. "Here."

Beckett stepped up behind me and reached around to position my body and arms into the proper stance.

"Square off to the target. Feet shoulder distance apart." She instructed.

I could not help but grin as she did this. This was the first time she had been so close to me. I don't need to tell you how much I was enjoying this.

"Gauntlet your right fist in her left palm." Beckett said.

Suddenly the gun discharged and the shot flew way off target to bury itself in the buffering wall behind the target.

"Whoa! Shot too soon." I said, surprised.

"Yeah, well. You know, we could always cuddle, Castle." Beckett quipped, very close to my ear.

I turned to look at her, amused at her comeback, pleased to see a smile on her face.

"Oh, funny. And a smile." I grinned.

I turned to face the target and concentrated a little more and squeezed off another round. The bullet struck the target this time but above the right shoulder.

"That's better." Beckett said, rubbing her cheek where the shell casing had struck her when it had been ejected by the gun.

As I took aim once again I chose this moment to bring up the other reason I had come looking for Beckett.

"You know, I came down to ask you if I could take home some of those stolen property photos." I informed her.

"Photos of the jewellery, why?"

"I don't know. I just thought it might spark something." I suggested.

If Evan Mitchell had turned out to be a dead end I thought maybe the jewellery the invasion crew had stolen might provide some new to lead to follow. I thought it might be worth a shot—pardon the pun.

I took aim and fired again. This time the bullet struck the silhouette in the crotch.

"Ooh that's gotta hurt." I winced.

Beckett smiled. She stepped back and turned to look at me.

"Tell you what." She said. "You put any of the next three in the ten ring, and I will give you the files."

"Yeah?" I said, surprised at her challenge.

"Yeah."

Challenge accepted, my dear Detective Beckett, I thought to myself, trying to restrain the cocky grin that threatened to breakout across my face. Suddenly I pivoted into the Weaver stance, aimed and fired off three rounds in rapid succession. All three bullets struck the 10-ring in such a close cluster that it looked just like one bullet hole. As the last of the ejected shell casings cluttered on the ground Beckett tore off her safety glasses and stared the target. She turned to face me. The look on Beckett's face was priceless. It was one of total disbelief at what she had just witnessed.

"You're a very good teacher." I said in a low, seductive voice.

What? You're surprised too? Have you forgotten that I take research seriously? I have always placed a very high premium on research. When I was writing Derrick Storm I wanted his gun handling abilities to be authentic as possible. In order to do that I had to learned how to handle and shoot guns. I know this guy, ex-special forces, who taught me. I would spend hour after hour firing at targets under his tutelage until I became what you might call a crack shot. Even now from time to time I practise just to keep my eye in. So there you have it.

Okay, and yeah, I was just messing with Beckett in the firing range. Can't a guy have a little fun?

XXX

I was seated on the couch in the living room with a glass of wine in my hand and the photos of the jewellery that had been stolen by the home invasion crew arrayed on the coffee table. Beckett had not been too keen to hand over the photos, at least not until I had told her where I had learned to shoot like that. I did not reveal my secret despite her best efforts. After all I have to keep some of my secrets. I had to remind her that a bet was a bet before she reluctantly passed over a file containing the photos of the stolen jewellery.

I perused over the photos marvelling at their beauty and the artistry of the people who created such pieces. Many of these pieces were great works of art.

"Hey Dad."

I looked up and smiled at Alexis as she approached.

"Hey. How was your date with Owen?" I inquired.

"Dad, it wasn't a date." Alexis said. "It was a study group."

"Okay. How many in the group?"

"Just the two of us." Alexis smiled.

I nodded my head. "Uh-huh."

Alexis is rapidly reaching that age where boys are becoming a great interest. The thought terrifies me no end. Having been a teenage boy and remembering some of the things I did at that age just freaks me out little now that I have a teenage daughter. Perhaps it is the Universe paying me back for the things I did in my misspent youth. If Alexis is my punishment for the stuff I did many, many years ago I don't mind at all. Punish me all you want. I think the punishment is knowing what teenage girls can get up to and having me freak out at the thought of it.

Tonight I chose not to pursue the matter of Alexis and this boy Owen.

Alexis motioned to the photographs.

"Pilfering evidence again, I see." She said, changing the subject rapidly.

"Borrowed." I corrected. I explained to her these photos were copies. Insurance companies maintain photos of jewellery pieces like these for identification purposes in case the the jewellery gets lost or stolen.

While I was giving that explanation Mother sauntered into the living room with a cocktail glass in her hand. Spotting the photographs on the coffee table she zeroed in and picked up one of the photos and studied it.

"Hello gorgeous. Ooh where have you been all my life?" She said with a smiling of longing on her face.

This was the moment I thought was right to bring up something that I had been thinking about and had been thinking about ever since I had left Susan Delgado's apartment.

"I'm thinking of installing a new security system." I announced. "Maybe a panic room."

Mother lowered the photo she had been gazing at and turned to look at me.

"Panic room? What for?" She asked. "Panic attacks?"

"Anyone comes, we'll beat them off with swords. Or pens, since they are mightier." Alexis added.

My two red heads did not seem to be taking this matter as serious as they should have. I had not told them about how Susan Delgado had been found stuffed in her wall safe. I wanted to spare them that horrific detail. Maybe I should have.

"No, I'm serious." I said. "I just want us to be safe."

"Oh life isn't safe. Especially in New York." Mother intoned. "Cranes collapse, air conditioners fall out of the sky. In the end, there's just a few short years."

I looked at my mother but did not speak. I had a feeling that she had not finished.

"The most you can do is make the most of it before something knocks you down. 'People living deeply have no fear of death.'"

I had been right. My eyebrows rose slowly upwards.

"Anais Nin?" I said. I motioned to the drink in her hand. "Mother, how many of those have you had?"

"Oh shh" Mother retorted.

I turned back to the photos. I picked one up from the coffee table and studied it.

"These are pretty incredible pieces. You wouldn't uses a normal fence for these." I mused aloud. "You'd need someone with impeccable taste, someone who who appreciated their value, someone who had high-end buyer connections."

"Powell. Oh there was a man." Mother said with a wistful tone in her voice. She levelled a look at me. "And you had to go and ruin it."

"Who's Powell?" Alexis asked.

"That was years ago." I said. "I'm sure he's forgotten all about that."

"Who's Powell?" Alexis asked again, with a little urgency in her voice.

"Forgotten?" Mother scoffed. "You forced him into retirement. You ruined his life. He threatened to slit your throat."

"Dad! Who's Powell." Alexis demanded.

I turned to look at her.

"You remember that character of mine, Bentley Silver?"

"The jewel thief in Storm Rising?" Alexis said.

"Yeah. I kind of based him on Powell." I informed her.

"Kind of?" Mother snorted. "You stole the man's life."

Mother turned to look at her granddaughter.

"And then your father, genius that he is, thanked him in the acknowledgements, completely blowing his cover."

"Yeah, he still can't be mad." I said.

When mother had mentioned Powell's name it had given me an idea. If there was anybody who would be considered an expert in this field it would be Powell. He could possibly provide some helpful information. I gathered up the photos of the jewellery

"I'm going to see him." I announced as I rose to my feet.

"Dad!"

"No, I'll be okay." I assured my daughter. "Don't worry. I think it will be fine."

I headed for the front door.

"If he doesn't slit your throat, tell him that he owes me an evening at Le Cirque." Mother called out.

It was a good sign that Mother did not seem too perturbed that I was going to pay a visit to Powell. I would have had second thoughts if there was any concern on her part.

XXXXX

A review would be appreciated.

Con