When the planets aligned just right, federal warrants tended to come in much quicker than local ones, and as a result, Kate almost immediately got phone taps on Richard Castle's family, the staff at his publishing company, and his lawyer. And about two hours after the last tap was finalized, Ryan ducked his head into her office. "Beckett, we got a hit. He called his lawyer."
The conversation was a brief one.
Richard, why did you run? Running only makes you look guilty.
They can't really do anything worse to me than execution, Jim.
Tell me where you are so I can come and get you, and you can turn yourself in.
You know I can't do that.
Richard, I can't harbor and aid a convicted felon. My advice as your legal counsel is to turn your damn self in. Where are you?
Milwaukee.
Kate thought through her contacts in Wisconsin. It made sense; as far as sneaking over borders went, Canada wouldn't be unfathomable. Easier than getting a plane ticket to South America or even Europe. And northern Wisconsin gave him options; he could even swerve east, slip through Sault Ste. Marie, or stow away on a freighter across Lake Superior.
She listened to the conversation one more time, shutting her eyes, focusing. "Tory, can you clear up the audio? It sounds like there's a loudspeaker in the background."
The sound tech nodded. "Sure. Give me a sec." She fiddled with dials and switches, clicked a few times, and pulled off her headphones. "All right. See if this helps."
The message started the same, but as the attorney started to say I can't help you, Rick, his voice went faint, leaving a blurry but discernable voice in the background. Tory frowned.
"I think if I…"
Her voice trailed off as she adjusted the controls again, finally nodding. "That should do it."
She pressed play again and as the lawyer's voice faded, the background voice came through, loud and clear.
This is a Brown Line train to Kimball.
Kate stared at the machine. "Are you kidding me?"
"Son of a bitch," Esposito murmured. "He's here."
Ryan threw down his pen. "The theater district? That's six blocks away."
Kate sent Esposito with a small crew to the payphone, but Castle was long gone by the time they got there. They found his fingerprints on the phone, but nothing useful. No information.
"Sorry, Beckett. No one remembers seeing him," Espo reported over the phone. "We'll keep checking, but I don't see this panning out. He could be anywhere by now."
She sighed, pressing her fingertips to her forehead. "Well, it was a long shot anyway. Thanks."
Kate set her phone down and swiveled her chair, staring out the window at the Chicago skyline. Chicago. Kimball.
Why is he still here?
And - the theater district?
She reached for one of the casefiles, flipping through papers until she found notes on his family. Scanning the page, she finally found what she was looking for - Martha Rodgers, his mother. An actress. A veteran performer who'd spent the past thirty-five years on various stages in Chicago. Castle must have grown up in and out of theaters. He'd know exactly how to disappear there. And if he could get into a theater, into a green room, he could alter his appearance.
Wonderful.
She had a vanishing fugitive, now with disguises at his disposal, and she still had no earthly idea why he was in Chicago.
The police detectives who had arrested Rick Castle in the first place came to the Marshals' headquarters that afternoon, and as they sat down in her office, Kate briefly wondered if it were possible for two men to be more stereotypically Chicahgo duhtectives.
But she kept that to herself.
"So why'd he kill her?"
The senior detective - Bob, she was pretty sure his name was - cleared his throat. "For the money."
Esposito leaned forward. "He was a best-selling author. He was already rich."
"She was more rich," Bob insisted placidly.
Esposito shot Kate a look. She cleared her throat. "So what else led you to believe he was the murderer?"
Bob sighed impatiently, shifting in his chair. "They'd been having marital problems. They were way, way on the rocks. She'd had more than one affair, and he'd found out about them."
"Also," his partner finally said, "his behavior started to look more and more suspicious. He'd gone out of his way to hide the problems with his wife; he didn't even tell us about them until we started to find out on our own. We know he has contacts in the criminal underworld. He's even got a criminal record."
"Aren't they all non-violent offenses, though?" Ryan asked innocently. "And - wait, it looks like he was cleared, every time. Even when he stole the police horse -"
"In addition," Bob continued without answering him, "we know - we couldn't prove it, and we never found it - the guy has hidden assets. He legally changed his name to Richard Edgar Castle when he was eighteen, and we're pretty sure he's used the name Richard Alexander Rodgers to hide money and open at least one account, separate from his wife."
Kate looked up from Richard Castle's initial statements. "It says here - Castle claimed he walked in on the murder. A dark-haired man, whom he did not recognize, killed his wife, struggled with him, and escaped?"
Bob nodded. "All he could tell us was 'dark hair, tall, strong.' Most generic statement possible."
"Did he sit with a sketch artist?"
"Like I said - completely generic. No help."
Ryan raised one hand. "What is this about a pen?"
The junior detective stared at Bob for a second, then seemed to remember. "Oh, right. Castle kept claiming there was some pen in his office, something the guy dropped in the struggle."
He folded his hands on his stomach again. Kate blinked.
"And?"
He shrugged. "And nothing. Pen had no prints on it but Castle's. It was his pen, in his office. Pretty flimsy claim."
"With no evidence on his side," Bob said, "no signs of forced entry, no motive but his, and his skin under the victim's fingernails, we naturally turned to him as primary suspect."
"I'm not trying to cast doubt," Kate explained, "but understand, we were surprised to see that the worst thing he ever got caught doing was -" she glanced back at the rap sheet "- stealing a police horse? While naked?"
"The guy plans murders for a living," Bob drawled. "He's had two dozen books to think about it. If anyone had a chance to practice and not get caught, it's this guy."
Kate nodded absently, flipping through more of her notes. "Thank you, gentlemen. If we run into more questions, we'll contact you again."
The junior detective, whose name Kate had completely lost, frowned, confused. "Aren't you going to alert the press?"
"No." She sat back in her chair. "We want him to relax. Think he's safe. Try and re-enter his life somehow."
The CPD had brought over a copy of the entire casefile on Meredith Harper-Castle's murder, and Kate and her team spent the afternoon sifting through it on their own, page by page. Lanie, the forensic specialist, frowned absently as she looked through the coroner's report. "Everything here looks completely in order, Kate. Cause of death was blunt force trauma to the head, matching the broken lamp found at the scene. No fluids, no foreign DNA, no fingerprints except Castle's. The investigators saw no signs of forced entry."
Kate scanned her own copy of the report. "The prosecutor said it was planned? Not a crime of passion?"
"The phone in the kitchen was off the hook," Lanie told her, pointing to the line in the report. "The victim's bloody fingerprints were found on the phone in the bedroom. She tried to call 911, but couldn't dial out. That didn't happen by accident."
Kate bit her lip. "I feel like we're missing something."
"I don't get it," Ryan sighed. "He goes to all this trouble, he knows all of Cook County is looking for him - why isn't he in Milwaukee? What's here?"
Kate shrugged, closing the folder she'd been reading and pinching the bridge of her nose. "I don't know, guys. I think we need to talk to his family."
Alexis Castle almost shut the door in Beckett's face when she saw the silver badge.
Her grandmother, who had taken the girl in when her father was arrested, sailed over to let them in. "I know you have to ask us, Miss Beckett, but so you know, my son is innocent. I don't care what the jury said. He did not kill Meredith."
"Ma'am, I'm just trying to find your son."
"So you can hand him over to be executed," Martha pointed out sharply. "You'll forgive me if I don't muster up any enthusiasm."
"Has he contacted you?"
Martha shook her head. "No."
Kate paused. "Would you tell me if he had?"
Martha let out a mirthless chuckle. "Honestly? No. I wouldn't. But it's a moot point. I really haven't heard from him, and I don't expect to."
"Why's that?"
Martha fixed her with a level gaze, the kind that briefly made Kate forget who was in charge.
"My son knows exactly how investigations run. He's done ridealongs with the Chicago police. He knows you'll come to question us. And he knows he's safer so long as we don't know where he is."
"Sounds like a smart man."
Martha smiled archly.
"Deputy Beckett, you have no idea."
Martha couldn't - or wouldn't - shine any light on whether or not Castle had any money or papers stashed anywhere. Kate eyed the woman, who was one of Chicago's finest actresses, and decided it wasn't worth needling her further.
Castle's daughter refused to leave her room when asked, though at least she didn't throw anything when Kate opened the door and poked her head inside.
"I need to ask you a few questions, Miss Castle."
The girl glared at her, jaw tight, but didn't say anything.
"Have you heard from your father?"
"No."
"Do you know why he's still in Chicago?"
That seemed to catch the girl by surprise - her eyes widened before she caught herself, and her face settled back into the stony mask. "No."
Kate thought for a moment. Alexis was cross-legged on her bed, very pointedly looking away from her. She wasn't getting anywhere with this girl.
"Alexis, I'm not your enemy." That got no reaction. Kate swallowed. "I know what it's like to lose someone, you know. I was about your age when my mother died. She was murdered."
"Did they strap your dad to a gurney and kill him, too?"
Kate blinked. "That's - not -"
"Get out." Alexis fixed Kate with a glare of pure ice, a vicious, consuming hatred that didn't belong in those big blue eyes, so much like her father's. "Just get out."
After a long moment, Kate tucked her hands into her pockets. She pulled out her card, setting it quietly on the girl's desk, and left, shutting the door behind her.
Castle slipped out the side door of the Chicago Theater, tugging at the grey pants, zipping up the black sweatshirt. He'd looked for the most neutral colors he could find.
He still had a slight sense of guilt over stealing some poor actor's clothing and makeup right out of the green room, but in the grand scheme of things, maybe it was okay, just this one time.
Besides: when this was all over, he could repay everything back. With interest.
Sneaking into the theater wasn't too difficult - he'd practically grown up there, and knew every door and passageway in the entire complex - but it was dangerous. The stage manager was an old friend of his mother's.
But he was outside now, one more faceless man in the crowds of Chicago, with newly salt-and-pepper hair and the shadow of greying stubble painted across his chin, thanks to years watching his mother and her co-stars doing stage makeup. He'd checked the mirror, and sure enough, ten minutes of makeup had turned him fifteen years older. A pair of fake glasses were perched on his nose, extra stage makeup and a second shirt tucked in the duffel bag he'd found, and he even had two fairly realistic-looking wigs, one black and one reddish-brown.
He really was invisible now.