The methodical half of Rick said That's it, you're done, now sit back and stay hidden. But the rest of him was finally ablaze with the righteous fury of a man whose life had been ruined.
Now that he could actually afford the time, he sat back on his little bed, staring at the bare, splintery wall of the apartment he hoped he wouldn't have to stay in much longer.
He'd solved his wife's murder. Now what?
While he waited patiently for the United States Postal Service to finish his work for him, Castle decided, maybe he could do one last thing. One last clue for the marshals chasing him.
Besides, he was a novelist. He worked best with gestures. He had no intention of becoming the killer Gina and Bracken had tried to make him.
But that didn't mean he couldn't destroy them.
Besides. Letting out anger was healthy. He'd hate to get an ulcer.
Kate had about three minutes in her office to take off her coat, sit down, turn on her computer, and attempt to check her email and inhale coffee before she was interrupted.
"Beckett?" Esposito leaned into her office. "We just got a call from CPD. One of Bracken's campaign locations was vandalized last night. Fingerprints are a match to Richard Castle."
What's your play here, Castle?
"You tell them to lock it down?"
He nodded. "The lieutenant said as soon as they got the fingerprint match, they shut down the entire office and haven't done anything. They're waiting for us."
She was already pulling her coat back on and grabbing her precious coffee.
"Let's not keep them waiting."
Kate ducked under the crime scene tape, watching uniformed cops swarming. There was a small crowd outside, hovering on the sidewalk, but judging from the lack of cameras and TV lights, the name Richard Castle hadn't been made public yet.
"Deputy Beckett?" A brisk-looking woman walked over, offering her a firm handshake. "Lieutenant Jordan Shaw, CPD. So glad you could make it."
"Nice to meet you. This is Ryan, this is Esposito." Kate nodded at the shattered windows of the store front. "It seems like you've kept our fugitive's name out of the report so far?"
Shaw nodded. "The minute we got here, I thought there was something strange. Let me show you."
She walked them inside, past the glass-covered pavement. The interior wasn't what Kate expected. Computers were untouched, furniture unbroken. Aside from a few campaign posters scattered across the floor, the room looked strangely normal.
"He didn't do much."
Shaw nodded. "Exactly. We got here, saw the window broken, but came in to find this. Out here, looks pretty harmless. But then we checked the back office."
They walked into rear office, Kate saw what Shaw meant.
"Oh."
It was Bracken's senior aide's office; behind the desk, there was a huge, full-size poster of a beaming Bracken, arms folded, in front of a pristine, bright American flag, a photo that could have fit any campaign for any politician, anywhere in the country.
But stabbed into the wall, right through the chest of Bracken's photo, were -
"Pens?"
"Campaign pens. Fancy ones," Shaw told her. "The poor intern walking us through the crime scene almost cried. Apparently they're expensive. Gifts for the biggest donors. He kept whining about how much money they cost."
Kate stared at the pens stabbed through the poster, biting her lip.
Not subtle, Castle.
Jordan folded her arms. "See, the thing that threw us, and why I figured this was more than just your average disgruntled taxpayer expressing his feelings in an inappropriate way, was the fact that this was basically all he did."
"He could have gotten interrupted," Ryan suggested. "Run out of time before he could completely trash the place."
"That doesn't explain the fingerprints." Shaw gestured to the front room. "No fingerprints anywhere. Nothing. No hairs, no fibers that we found. He broke open this door to the back office, but still, no fingerprints on the knob, the lock, anything. Not even a usable shoeprint. The only fingerprints, in this entire crime scene, are on those pens."
"Lieutenant?" A young uniform poked his head in. "Sorry to bother you. Could you step out for a minute?"
Shaw left Kate and the guys in the office, and Esposito turned to Kate. "Okay, Beckett. You're the Castle whisperer here. What's he trying to say?"
"Remember the Meredith Castle crime scene reports? The interviews? Castle claimed the assailant dropped a pen." Kate let out a short laugh. "Shaw's right. This wasn't about the vandalism. He wanted us to see these pens. He knows Bracken's involved."
Shaw agreed to hold the Castle angle out of the press for the time being. Kate had considered releasing it, but decided to keep Bracken in the dark for the time being. He probably suspected, but until she had something more concrete, she didn't want to give him more information than he already had.
Kate didn't like politicians. In her experience, they tried to know too much.
Back at the Marshals' offices, Kate dropped by the tech labs. "Hey, Tory. Any luck with those hotel records?"
Tory shook her head. "Not much. I did find two records of Gina Griffin booking rooms, but Bracken doesn't appear on the surveillance tapes. Neither does Disappearing Davidson."
"Well, it was a long shot." Kate thought for a long moment. "You looking for a new project?"
"What do you need?"
"Check Davidson's financial records from the dates of Meredith Castle's and Alex Conrad's murders. Cash deposits, money transfers, credit card records. Anything that might connect him to either murder, or to William Bracken."
Tory nodded, tugging her long hair back into a ponytail. "See, it's times like this I'm glad I didn't marry that millionaire when I was in college."
Kate patted her on the shoulder. "You'd make a terrifying trophy wife."
The day brought nothing. No leads. Kate wanted to tear her hair out. Hours later, she found Tory mired in financial records, with nothing more than Maybe? to report. Esposito came to report that no one had any leads on Castle's current location. Ryan came in to tell her no one had seen Davidson. Lanie called from the vandalized Bracken headquarters to say she and the CPD forensics team hadn't found any other clues. Castle had covered his tracks entirely too well.
Her phone rang.
"Beckett."
"Deputy Beckett, this is Martha Rodgers."
Kate straightened in her chair. "Ms Rodgers, ma'am. Something I can do for you?"
"I guess - I was just calling to ask if you've found my son yet." Martha sighed deeply. "I know you can't tell me much. But if nothing else, maybe I can remind you that my son is not a murderer."
"I appreciate hearing from you," Kate said quietly. There was something she instinctively liked about Martha Rodgers. The woman was a force. A bold, confident, daring actress with a dynamic presence. "We haven't found him yet. I promise, I will call you immediately, if and when we do."
"Thank you."
Kate went home late, again, and collapsed onto her couch, rubbing her face with a sigh.
Where are you? What's your next move?
He was meticulous; he'd clearly made a plan. Kate had read almost all his notebooks. Castle had a bold personality, and a big sense of humor, but he also had a sharp mind. Anyone who'd researched as many crimes as he had would know how to disappear. He'd know his only chance was to exonerate himself by uncovering the real killer. And he'd know perfectly well that he'd have to produce real evidence, something ironclad, something to take to a judge.
Give me something I can use, Castle.
The next morning, an envelope landed on her desk, addressed to U.S. Marshals' Office, ℅ Deputy Beckett.
In the top left corner, rather than a proper return address, there was simply written, R. Castle.