"Detectives, Mister Castle…"

Dr. Harold Lafayette was a stout man, standing well over six feet, broad-chested with the brightest blue eyes Beckett had seen in a long time.

His handshake was gentle despite his massive bear paw, an expensive watch decorating his wrist.

She was about to thank him for making the time when his gaze travelled up to Esposito, causing him to hesitate for the slightest of moments.

"Javier…it's nice to see you again."

A shy smile escaped Esposito's lips as he reached forward to shake hands, the air surrounding both men thick with a shared past she couldn't wait to dig into.

"Same here, doc."

A tense silence ensued, threatening to turn awkward as Lafayette held onto Esposito's hand a moment longer than usual, before finally letting go, turning his back toward his audience as he walked over to his desk.

"So, I understand you three have some questions about the center's connection to Lieutenant Harrison? He was a good man. I can't imagine what kind of a sick soul could hurt him."

"We understand that you accepted a…substantial amount of cash donations from Lieutenant Harrison starting six months ago until two days prior to his death. Now, it shows that this center is also receiving several federal grants for your work with veterans, so I'd like to find out what motivated Harrison to send that much money to you and what it was used for?"

Lafayette drew in a deep breath and turned around to face them again, leaning forward and resting his strong hands on his cheap pine desk cluttered with paperwork and an outdated laptop.

"Detective Beckett, I am sure a detail-oriented person such as yourself might have noticed the obvious decay going on in this building…", he began, and theatrically shook his head in disgust, "I have devoted my entire career, heck my life to helping our soldiers find peace after they return from the war. My research has been published in every single Psychiatry Magazine there is, I have written numerous books, made TV appearances and passionate appeals to raise awareness. And yet, it seems that the harder I try, the more resistance I encounter."

"What kind of resistance, doc?", Espo asked, his eyes intently trained on the psychiatrist, never noticing Castle and Beckett exchanging curious glances beside him.

"Javier, you of all people know what kind of resistance I am talking about. Why do you think I lost the fancy office I was in the last time you saw me?"

"Could you tell the rest of us anyway?", Castle chimed in, his voice carefully guarded as though he sensed that something was amiss.

"The government. Society. The media. Take your pick, Mister Castle. As you are about to find out, things such as mental illness, especially PTSD are great for headlines, but uncomfortable to talk about. Do you honestly believe the U.S. Department of Defense is ready to admit to the fact that a significant percentage of our current and ex-military is affected by PTSD? That suicide rates are rising at a never-before seen rate? That this should be treated like any other injury in the line of duty, that there should be well-financed treatment options, unlimited therapy, disability claims? No, that would be too expensive. It's easier to silence the problem, label each suicide something between drug and alcohol abuse or depression brought on by anything…and I mean absolutely anything besides PTSD."

Approaching the cheap desk, Beckett casually let her eyes drift over the few personal items she could make out amongst the clutter of case files; an old picture of Lafayette in the service and a glass-encased Purple Heart.

"You received this during your time of service, Doctor Lafayette?"

"I didn't, Detective Beckett.", the psychiatrist answered somberly, "This was earned by one of my patients. After…after he threw himself off the thirty-first floor of his apartment complex during a severe trigger episode, his widow gave it to me to…encourage me to keep up the fight, to continue to be a voice for those who lost this horrible battle."

Behind her, Esposito exhaled slowly, his gaze never leaving that small plaque.

Castle on the other hand had moved on from the conversation and began studying the wall of books resting on four shelves beside the doctor's desk, stretching several feet wide. Beckett watched him run his fingers over several of the titles, stopping here and there as if something had caught his attention.

"I have to admit, Doctor Lafayette, I didn't expect to see some of these…these materials here. Advanced Hypnosis. The Metaphysical Connection between Service and Death. Deep-level Meditation. Somehow, I expected to see this spot filled with pamphlets for Xanax."

"If it was, I'd still have my cushy old office, Mister Castle. As it stands though, most pharmaceutical suppliers focus on treating the problem with a bandaid, rather than solving it. They quickly lose interest if you don't subscribe enough pills to everyone who wants them. I always figured that to be a cowardly, money-driven approach. Me on the other hand, I believe that we are dealing with human beings here, heroes that are injured. I want to invest my time into figuring out a way to solve their issues and allow for them to move on. As such, I have in the past looked into alternate healing methods, such as guided mediation, deep state hypnosis and even massage techniques. It might sound ridiculous to you, but I'd be happy to sacrifice my reputation and accept the mockery of my industry if I can help just one combat vet get better with those methods."

"So how did you meet Lieutenant Harrison?", Beckett asked, trying to bypass the filibuster to get back to their case.

"I met Don just over six months ago. He interviewed me after my name came up during one of his investigations. You will have to forgive me, I can't remember the exact content, but he showed up at my office, this office here, and we began to talk about my mission and goals. I had just lost the hospital's support and was getting used to my new accommodations thanks to the CFO filing claims against me for not making enough money and bringing in questionable characters when all I did was offer my homeless clients a chance to see me and get free counseling. I guess…I guess the story touched his heart. I told him that we had filed for several grants but received barely enough money to pay the rent on this place, much less offer the resources these men and women need. It must have reached him because he began sending us…substantial donations for quite a while. We will forever be grateful for his support."

"We show that Lieutenant Harrison called you the day he was murdered and that the call lasted for over eight minutes. Could you tell us what that was about?"

"Sure, sure…" the Doctor said with a warm smile, "He was very embarrassed, actually. He'd run into some financial trouble and said he would no longer be able to support us. I told him that he had done more for us than anybody else and that we would figure out a way to get by and not to worry. I felt horrible for him because he was really upset."

"Did he say what kind of trouble?", this time it was Esposito speaking up, slowly inching his way toward the desk.

"He did not. We just talked for a bit and eventually he hung up."

"Do you have any idea who might have had a motive to kill him? Did he say anything about receiving threats, getting into some sort of trouble?"

"He did not, Detective Beckett. As I am sure your…reports will show you, we didn't talk often. He would just check in from time to time and I kept him apprised of how things were going here. It was always a pleasant talk."

"What were you doing last night around 7pm, Doctor Lafayette?"

A broad smile crossed the other man's lips as he shook his head, then stood back up to circle his desk.

"I am not your killer, detective. As a matter of fact, I was here until close to 10pm seeing patients. You can check with Marianne outside. I didn't get home until midnight."

Unable to disguise a disappointed grimace, Beckett nodded slowly, letting her eyes drift across the office one last time, looking for clues, before she gestured toward the parking lot.

"Ok, well, thank you very much, Doctor Lafayette. We will call you if we have any other questions."

With a cordial smile, she bid farewell to the doctor, turning toward the door when she heard him clear his throat once again.

"It was a pleasure meting you all. And Javier, you are looking good. Keep up the fight and remember your numbers."