Chapter 2

"Chuck Rafferty," she said. "I'm Detective Beckett, NYPD. This is Detective Esposito. We want to talk to you about Arnie Bukowitz." The words were normal. The tone carried a subtext of anger. Rafferty shut his lips on a complaint about her walking in.

"Arnie?" he queried. "Sure, he's a member, but… Cops? He done something wrong?"

"He's dead." She didn't soften the words.

"Dead? Arnie? Who'd kill him?"

"You tell us," Beckett said.

Esposito looked at the manager, whose forehead was beginning to dampen, repressed a shiver, and tapped Beckett's hand. She stepped back, which was a considerable relief to Espo, and then sat down. Espo sat too, and gave Rafferty an all-gym-nuts-together grin.

"We know Bukowitz worked out here," he said, "so how often did he come? He looked pretty fit."

"Most days," Rafferty said, relaxing now that Beckett's gimlet glare was away from him. "Like you say, he was pretty fit, and working on it. We run a sparring session too, and he was into that. Helmets and pads," he added at Esposito's questioning glance. "We're not a boxing club: it's just another way for the guys to keep fitter. If they want boxing there's a gym a couple of blocks over."

"Did Bukowitz want to box?"

"Naw. He wasn't into that. Didn't like blood, even. Leroy there got a bit enthusiastic an' clobbered Jim on the nose, an' Arnie went green an' had to sit down for a bit." Rafferty gestured at a muscular heavyweight, spotting for a smaller man at the weights bench.

"Anyone got a beef with him?"

Rafferty considered. "Naw, not really" –

"That means yes," Beckett intervened. "Who was it?"

Rafferty wriggled. "Well, uh…"

"Tell me," Beckett snapped, projecting massive intimidation.

"Uh, a bunch of the guys said he was dealing."

"Dealing what?"

"I dunno. I told him if he was dealing to get out an' stay out but he said they got the wrong guy."

"Heard that before," Espo said.

"Who said he was dealing?" Beckett asked.

"Uh…"

"Are they here now?"

"Uh…"

"Get them in here."

Rafferty left to round up the guys. Espo looked at Beckett. "You got a burr up your ass? He's not a suspect yet. Ease off."

"I want this solved. He's got information and dancing around isn't going to help."

"Just chill a bit. Scaring them into silence won't help either and that's what you're doing. Back off, Beckett."

Suddenly, the anger leaked away. "We need answers," she said.

"Yeah, but give me a chance. It's barely the end of the first day. We need a lead. You're pushing too hard."

Beckett knew that she was. But forcing the pace was the only way she could forget that Espo wasn't her partner. Her partner – wasn't, any more. He was gone. "You lead, then," she said.

A group of men filed in, still in singlets and shorts or gym pants. The small office became cramped, and hostile worry tainted the air.

"What's this?" one grunted.

"NYPD," Esposito said. "Arnie Bukowitz is dead."

"Good riddance," another said. "Piece'a shit."

"Yeah?" Espo encouraged.

"Always bragging about how he could lift more pound for pound than the rest of us, pushing his goddamn supplements."

"Supplements?"

"Whey protein, plant-based crap, over-priced and useless."

"Don't use them myself," Espo said. "Same reason."

The men looked at him with more interest. "You train?"

"Sure I do."

"So why're you trailing a girl around behind you?" one man, clearly suicidally stupid, asked.

"I am the senior detective here," Beckett said coldly. "I train every day. Do you want to find out how?"

The idiot decided rapidly that he wasn't that much of an idiot and didn't want to die that day. It was clear to every man in the room that Beckett was quite prepared to prove her ability, and not one of them was dumb enough to think that she was bluffing. That was lucky. She wasn't.

"Now, what about Arnie?" Espo said, over Beckett's vicious hiss, ignoring the way the other men were subtly trying to be as far away from Beckett as possible while not looking as if they were hiding. "C'mon." Out of Beckett's field of view, he made a tiny gesture and acquired an expression that said Talk to me or you'll be talking to her.

"He never mentioned steroids," someone blurted. "But… I dunno, I thought that he could get them if I'd said I wanted some."

"Me too."

"I get it. Any of you guys go sparring?" Espo asked, while Beckett sat back, seemingly relaxed, but ready to explode at the slightest hint of trouble.

"Sparring? Like, boxing?"

"Yeah," Beckett dropped in. A sea of blank faces greeted her.

"Like, heavyweights?"

"Yes."

"Naw. Some of the guys do, but not us. There's a class, later on, but we don't go. Seen it on TV, though. Mike Tyson, right?"

"Guess so," said Esposito.

"So, anybody else go sparring?" Beckett said.

"Naw." But it didn't sound convincing, and the cops weren't convinced.

Beckett's face hardened. "Do you know anyone else who trains here who might go sparring?"

The men exchanged looks. Beckett, watching, tapped her fingers meaningfully.

"Uh, there's Donnie."

"Who's Donnie?"

"He's usually in later. Think he's in construction."

Beckett looked at Rafferty. "Yeah. Usually in around seven," Rafferty confirmed.

"Who else is in the sparring class?"

Rafferty cringed. "I'll give you a list. There's one tonight, at seven."

"Okay. I'll want a membership list."

Rafferty's mouth shaped the word warrant, but then he looked at Beckett's face. "Just let me print it," he said, and a printer whirred. He handed a sheaf of paper over.

"Thank you. I'll be back at seven."

Espo took a breath.

"If we've any more questions," Beckett said, cutting Espo off, "we'll get back to you." She stood up and stalked out. Behind her, the group slumped and sighed with relief.

"What was that?" Espo asked.

"I'll come back when this Donnie's here," Beckett said.

Espo regarded her closely. "Naw. We'll come back when Donnie's here."

"I don't need a babysitter following me around."

Espo made a leap of logic. "Then you don't need to bring your sparring gear either." There was an instant's stillness.

"Like you wouldn't?" Beckett asked, seemingly lightly.

"They wouldn't be competition."

"Nor for me," Beckett said, which didn't reassure Espo in the slightest. "Let's get back and see what Ryan's got."

Ryan had pills. Or rather, Ryan and CSU had found pills which CSU had taken back to the lab. Otherwise, Ryan had not a lot to nothing. CSU, on the other hand, had Arnie's pills, Arnie's phone, Arnie's laptop and a whole bunch of unidentified fingerprints which, unlike everything else they had, weren't Arnie's.

"What've we got?" Beckett asked, without her usual misbegotten ungrammatical construction. "I've got the run on Arnie. Traffic tickets…oh. Oh. Picked up on suspicion of dealing, but they couldn't prove it."

"Why not?"

"Because two flakes of anything couldn't be proven to be him dealing. He could've got that going to the restroom in half the city's diners."

Beckett's e-mail pinged. "Autopsy. Lanie must've put a rush on." She scanned the report. "Beaten to death – burst spleen, kidney damage, looks like kicks – mixed martial arts style, but for real damage not competition. Defensive bruising – he must've fought back. Tox – here we are. Evidence of prolonged steroid use." She paused. "And some opioids – Lanie speculates painkillers from too much working out – too."

"Dealing."

"Yeah," Beckett said. "Did we follow up whether there were other steroid issues around the gym? And add opioids to that, too."

"Give me that list, and I'll try," Ryan said. The list moved from Beckett to Ryan. "The pills in his apartment should be identified by tomorrow."

"Good." She went on down the report. "Blood spatter indicates he was killed where he was found. A-ha! Whoever beat him wore a signet ring." She flicked a glance at Espo. "I didn't notice a signet ring on anyone at the gym. Did you?"

"Naw. We can look later."

"We?" Beckett said with a delicately raised eyebrow.

"Yeah. We. That way nobody can yell that it happened differently from what you said."

Beckett regarded Espo with considerable disfavour. Still, she got the point. "Okay."

"And if you're taking your workout gear, so am I."

She shrugged. "Fine. We can give them a demonstration if there's any more crap about me being a girl."

"Sure," Esposito said, without betraying a whit of worry about Beckett sparring when her temper was up.

Beckett thought that a nice hard sparring session would be a good thing, Take her mind off…everything else. She'd have to concentrate. A glimmer of sense told her that she shouldn't spar at the gym she was investigating…but that didn't mean she couldn't find another one. It would be wise to find a different one. She didn't let the thought so Espo can't interfere hit her conscious mind, but underneath, it wriggled poisonously.

"Now, where are we?"

Discussion continued, with many thoughts adorning the murder board, until the end of shift. Beckett watched as Espo packed up, but was deeply disappointed when he strolled up.

"Time to go," he said.

Beckett strode back into Rafferty's gym, arrowing straight for his office. Prudently, he was there.

"Mr Rafferty."

"Donnie's the big guy on the bench, pressing weights. Ty's the spotter."

"Full name?"

"Donnie Mehrts."

"Thank you," Beckett clipped, and exited, Espo following.

"Mr Mehrts?"

"Who's askin'?"

"Detective Beckett, NYPD."

He sat up, and looked her up and down, slowly. "You don't look nothin' like a detective," he said. "You sure?"

"See this shield and gun?" Beckett snapped. "I'm sure. Now, I have some questions for you. You can answer now or we can go right back to the precinct and do it in Interrogation. Your choice."

"You an' whose army?" Donnie said. Espo took a step forward. Ty-the-spotter took a step back, demonstrating considerably more brain than Donnie.

"Stand up," Beckett commanded.

"Naw."

Half a second later Beckett's Glock was against his head. Donnie didn't know that the safety was on, though Espo had noticed.

"Stand. Up," she repeated. Donnie did exactly as he was told, face slack with shock. "Hands on your head." She brought his arms down in approved fashion and cuffed him. "Okay. I'm taking you in. You want to play the asshole, you can answer my questions in Interrogation after a night in a cell."

"You can't do that!"

"Sure I can. You're obstructing a murder investigation, so I'm arresting you. Now move!"

"Naw, look, I'm sorry, okay? I was just messin' with you 'cause you're too hot to be a cop" –

"Not helping," Espo pointed out –

"Sure I'll answer. Don't take me in, I got a family an' a job an' they'll fire me if I don't show up in the morning."

"Why should I care?" Beckett said icily. "You didn't care about me having to do my job, so give me one good reason why I should care about yours."

"Give him a break, Beckett," Espo intervened. She flung him a fulminating glare, but he made a tiny gesture, indicating that he was playing good cop to her bad cop.

"Why? We got a murder, remember?"

"He'll answer. If he doesn't, we can haul him in then."

"I'd rather take him in now."

Donnie stared at her, and found no pity or surcease. "Look, lady, I didn't mean it, okay. I'll talk. Just don't take me in. I didn't mean nothin'."

"The cuffs stay on," Beckett said. "I'm not taking chances."

"Yeah, sure," Espo agreed. "I'll go make sure Rafferty's got somewhere quiet we can talk."

It was pretty quiet in the gym – not to say dead silent. Beckett's swift intimidation and lack of hesitation to draw her gun had left all the men in the room extremely keen to ensure that she didn't notice them for a second. Donnie might have been a lot bigger than Beckett, but she'd cowed him in one move.

She hustled him through the tense, terrified silence: groups of big men, groups of small, wiry men, all determinedly not catching her eye, not looking at the sweating Donnie.

"Sit," Beckett ordered. Donnie almost fell into the chair – a hard plastic chair, which shuddered under his bulk – in his haste to obey. Beckett took the other chair; her gun overtly in front of her on the desk. Donnie looked at it, and at Beckett's long fingers. She caught the direction of his gaze and caressed the grip. He paled, swallowed, and took a deep breath. "Now. You get one chance. You answer everything honestly and fully, and I'll uncuff you and you go home. One single lie, evasion or omission and you'll be in a cell and charged. Capisce?"

"Yes." His deep voice wavered. Beckett's stroking fingers didn't pause, and Donnie couldn't take his eyes from them. She touched the gun as if it were a lover. Espo watched her face, and saw nothing to mitigate his unease. Beckett acting bad cop, fine. This felt far too real for his comfort, and though he was sure she wouldn't cross the line, she was certainly treading close to it. He looked at her eyes, cold and hard, and saw that same nothing-to-lose, nothing-matters-to-me look that he'd seen before.

He stood silently to one side, and hoped that nothing would go south. Beckett had slapped down any suggestion that anything might be wrong since the day Castle had left with his ex-not-ex-any-more, but Espo was becoming more and more worried that all the enjoyment she'd used to gain from her job was now grim determination to do, say, and think about nothing else but solving cases as fast as possible.

"Arnie Bukowitz," Beckett said. "Tell me about him."

"In here every day. Weights, speed bag. Sparred a bit but he wasn't good at it. Good at the weights, though. Shame he was a hustlin' piece of shit. Couldn't leave it alone with those supplements an' protein shakes an' dumb crap about vegetable extracts."

"Mm?" Beckett hummed. Donnie was lulled by the interest.

"Sure. I don't need no vegetable extracts an' I don't need no supplements either. 'Sides which, I thought he was coverin' up for other stuff. He dressed too good an' he had a pretty expensive watch on for a guy who worked in the subway cleanin' up."

"He worked for the transit authority?"

"Guess so. Said he cleaned up stations."

"What did you think his watch was?"

"He said it was a Rolex. How does some garbage collector get a Rolex? I can't afford one of them an' I'm a top electrician, own my own home an' everything, never outta work."

"Show me your hands," Beckett said. Espo uncuffed the man to allow it. Donnie placed his hands flat on the table between them. "Spread your fingers." He did. "Now turn them over." He did that too. "You wear a ring?"

"Naw. Not married."

Espo blinked. Beckett didn't turn a hair. "So no ring? Class, sports, anything like that?"

"Naw. If I get married then I'll get one. Matchin'."

"Okay. What else do you know about Arnie?" Beckett had softened marginally, and Donnie responded.

"Like I said, he was hustlin' these supplements, but I wasn't interested. Worked in the subway, but I dunno when, 'cause it sounded like he was here most of the time." His brow furrowed. "Don't think he ever said where he lived, an' he didn't mention any girlfriend or anythin' – didn't ever talk about sports or the game or anythin'. Most of the rest of us go to the sports bar maybe once a month, or more when there's a big game on. He never did."

"But you wouldn't have wanted him."

"Naw, but…he didn't wanna do anythin' but push that stuff."

"Did anyone take him up on it?"

"Uh…I didn't, but maybe Leroy would know. He works here as well as trains. Or Ty – the guy spottin' for me."

"Okay. Anything more you can think of?"

Donnie met her eyes. "Naw." He coloured faintly. "An', well, sorry. Didn't mean to disrespect you an' the badge."

"Don't do it again," Beckett said. "Next time, I'll take you in."

He dropped his eyes.

"Is Leroy out there? Or Ty?" Espo asked. "Show me." He escorted Donnie out of the room. On her own, Beckett scribbled a few extra questions in her notebook, and wished that she could take a few bruising rounds of sparring. Interrogation had kept her mind firmly on the job, but pauses in her focus on the victim let it try to slither away to – nope. He was gone.

Unnoticed, a little maggot of unhappiness said what's the point? You've only got the job, so just do the job. It doesn't matter if you take a few more risks to solve the case: there's nobody else to worry about.

Before she could notice the thought, Espo returned with Leroy, who regarded Beckett with wariness and swiped off his sparring helmet before wearing it could be taken as disrespect.

"This is Leroy Brown," Espo said, and retreated to his corner.

"Sit down," Beckett said. "I'm Detective Beckett. I want to know about Arnie Bukowitz."

"Didn't like blood," Leroy said. "I missed and got Jim's nose and Arnie nearly fainted. Guess those supplements don't cure fainting at the sight of blood."

"Did he try to sell them to you?"

"Sure. He tried it on everyone. I bought one packet of some vegetable crap and got the squits for a week. No way was I buying anything else from him."

"Mm?"

"He said he'd got better stuff but no way. He kept hassling me till I told him to fuck off or I'd put him in the sparring ring and punch his lights out."

"Did you?"

"Naw. He backed right off and left me alone."

"Really?" Beckett's scepticism was evident. "You spar. Arnie was beaten to death. Like a sparrer would."

"I never!"

"Where were you Sunday night and Monday morning?"

"At home! Where else would I be?"

"Anyone else there?"

"No."

"So you got no alibi."

"I live in Queens!"

"Prove it."

He fumbled frantically for his driver's licence, which showed an address in Queens. "See? Queens. I don't even know where Arnie lived. I didn't know he was dead till you told me. Unless he got dead in Queens, it couldn't'a been me."

"You could have driven to the crime scene."

"Run my plates. You can prove I wasn't there!" His voice rose, increasingly scared, as he scrawled his plates on a notepad.

"No, I can't," Beckett said, boredly. "You look pretty good to me. We'll be checking."

"It wasn't me!" Leroy insisted.

"If we find it was, you'll be doing double time for lying."

"It wasn't!"

"So you say. Like I said, we'll be checking. Don't leave town."

"I won't. Are we done?" His tone said please, let me be done.

"For now. Send in Ty."

Leroy fled.

"You're being pretty tough on 'em," Espo said neutrally.

"I want the truth. That one was too scared to lie. It speeds it up."

Espo clamped his mouth shut before he said something that he just knew wouldn't go down well, and wondered what Ryan would think of this new, aggressive, hard-ass Beckett. Sure, she'd always been able to switch it on, but now she was starting hard and getting harder. He didn't like the implications.

Thank you to all readers and reviewers.

A different, heartfelt thank you to everyone who's read my original novels. Today, I found that 1000 (yes, one thousand!) have been read. I know that's not many compared to best-sellers, or indeed Richard Castle, but I'm really happy about it. Thank you to every one of you who read my fan fiction, which gave me the impetus to try original books as SR Garrae. I really, really appreciate your support and commentary.