"You said you came across that group of kids when you were checking the area for security camera footage…", Beckett repeated and nervously brushed her long dark hair back. As the atmosphere in the bullpen changed from anticipation to frantic, nervous energy, she let her eyes drift over to Castle, seeing the same thoughts circle his mind.
"They were just hanging out. Making anti-police and racial comments when I walked by, so I let them have it."
Sensing the bitterness in Espo's words, she nodded quietly and patted his shoulder in unspoken solidarity, before pointing at the still picture on Kevin's desktop.
"And the leader was named Andrew, his second in command a Richie. What about the other two?"
Trying to keep his voice calm as well, Kevin narrowed his eyes, his bright mind in hunter mode, undoubtedly ready to search every digital database in this town for their four suspects.
"Didn't catch their names. Nondescript looking Caucasian males. Sixteen, maybe seventeen. Skinny, some muscle tone. Dressed in various degrees of military attire with a tendency for older European style boots."
"You think we're dealing with some misguided nazi devotees?", Castle asked apprehensively, having dug into the terrible atrocities committed under that regime enough times during his book research to know that this never meant good news.
Esposito's nod confirmed his worries.
"At that age, teenagers are still very impressionable. Whoever recruited them to commit these murders must have some pull. Once we get their school records, we can track down their whereabouts, see who they've had contact with."
"That might be difficult, guys…", Kevin interrupted, having moved on from his work on the camera footage and began to run the kids through their database, hoping for matches, "Looks like our friend Andrew Jackson here has quite the juvi record…and a hankering to truancy."
"Why doesn't that surprise me…?", Beckett sighed and leaned over to look at the booking photo and rap sheet, "Only seventeen years old. Two counts for possession and three for aggravated assault, one of them on a peace officer. Daddy's in prison and mommy is an avid alcoholic, so they pushed him through the system."
"Which seemed to have failed him…like so many others…", Castle muttered in undisguised disappointment.
"Last known address is from three years ago, a place over in Brooklyn.", Ryan continued, his eyes scanning the large amount of information in astounding time, "No siblings. These police reports are not mentioning any friends or groups he is part of. Seems like he's created his own..."
"What, and you think somebody hired these punks to take out cops?", Esposito grunted and ran a hand through his short hair, hating the idea of having been so close to their killers once already.
"Why not? It's perfect."
They all turned toward Beckett, who had walked back to the murder board, letting her slim fingers run across the pictures stuck to it.
"These boys are pawns. Our killer figured out a way to hire them for his deeds. He may have spent some time preparing them, even making sure that they don't leave evidence behind. Oseguiro might have been the guy working with them, a trainer of sorts, teaching them how to lure our victims away from a safe spot and then attack in pairs. From thereon out, they're just tools, easily replaceable in case they get killed. I bet he even figured out a way to remove anything that might tie them to his person, so their word against his would be worthless in a court of law. All this time we were chasing our tails trying to identify one or two assailants when there were four altogether, all of them different height and size. But all of them shared the same plans, the same jobs, the same...disturbing willingness to kill."
"They're guerillas…", Castle added with his eyebrows raised, "Whoever hired them must have been playing off their interest in warfare, strengthening their commitment and feeding that misguided pride and ego."
"And it's gotta be somebody who has both, access to these juvenile delinquents…and to our victims."
Beckett's words cut through them like a knife, opening up a theory neither one of them was comfortable voicing.
Eventually it was Castle who sucked in a deep breath and shook his head in aversion.
"Our killer is a cop."
