Homecoming: Chapter 6
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DISCLAIMER: Most of these characters are not mine at all, but they are memorable. Thank you, Mr. Marlowe. The others? Yeah, they're mine
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1:28 p.m. on Monday Afternoon, April 23, 2012, At the 12th Precinct in New York City
"Listen, Mr. Harkens, if you think you are walking out of this precinct without giving us some information that convinces us that you had nothing to do with this, you aren't going to be going anywhere anytime soon," a calm Detective Ryan promises the man 'in the box' as they like to say.
The interrogation room has three people in it at this time: Detective Ryan, Detective Esposito, and Peter Harkens, the bank manager from Washington Heights.
Behind the two-way mirror stand Captain Victoria Gates and Private Investigator Kate Beckett. Richard Castle sits annoyed and frustrated in the bullpen, punted to the sidelines by an equally annoyed and frustrated Victoria Gates – only for different reasons.
"There is no way you didn't see those four men walk in with Miss Castle," Javier Esposito continues for his partner. "You all but admitted that back at the bank. You're going down for one thing or another. Either you are completely inept and allowed kidnappers to parade a blindfolded, abducted teenager through your bank, or you completely corrupt, and allowed kidnappers to parade a blindfolded, abducted teenager through your bank."
"But –"
"Either way," Kevin Ryan interrupts the bank manager, "you allowed kidnappers to parade a blindfolded, abducted teenager through your bank. This is going to hit the newspapers. It's going to be on the news broadcasts all day, all night, for multiple days until Miss Castle is found."
"You get to decide what story the media runs with," Detective Esposito tells him. "Or maybe we will just tell them we are holding you because you are involved and uncooperative. I wonder what Simmons will think about that . . . I wonder what he will think about you sitting in a holding cell for an extended period of time . . . squirming . . . wondering about your family . . ."
Kate Beckett and Victoria Gates both smile behind the mirror they watch through.
"That should do it," Kate smiles, as the Captain nods her head.
"Allowing it to slip that we know this Simmons is involved tells him all he needs to know," Gates agrees. Behind the two-way glass, their assumptions are bearing out.
Sort of.
"I told you before," Peter Harkens tells the two detectives. "You have no idea what they will do . . . to my family."
Behind the glass, Kate frowns. Gates, of course, not having been on-site at the bank, has no idea what those words mean to her ex-detective.
"Problem?" Gates asks her, still staring through the glass.
"Maybe," Kate replies. "That is the second time that he has used the word 'they'. Not 'he'. Not even 'she'. He said 'they' will hurt his family."
"And this is important because?" Gates asks.
"Because Vulcan Simmons is anything but a team player," Kate tells her. "He ran the drug market in Washington Heights. For years. But now he promises he is squeaky clean, and too many people believe him."
"You don't," Gates remarks.
"I don't," Kate acknowledges. "But I also know that he didn't play well with others. Yet Harkens has clearly stated – twice now – that he is afraid of multiple people. So yeah, that throws a wrinkle into this."
"I have an APB out for Mr. Simmons," Gates tells her.
"On what charge?" Kate asks. "We have nothing on him, and we don't know the identity of the men in the crew that took Alexis, and –"
"He is a person of interest," Gates interrupts. "No charges. We just want to talk. Officers are, in fact, enroute to his home to pick him up."
"He doesn't have to come," Kate worries.
"He will come," Gates replies, unconcerned. "He is a legitimate businessman and stand-up citizen, correct? That is what he wants us to believe. He will come in – if for no other reason – than to continue with that guise."
"Perhaps," Kate nods, gazing hard at the perp behind the glass. "Maybe some time in the cell will change Harkens' mind."
"Agree," Gates remarks, as she turns to the phone on the wall. Lifting the receiver, she gives instructions over the speaker 'in the box' to her detectives.
"Enough, gentlemen," she tells them. "Mr. Harkens has nothing to say. Put him in the tank. Perhaps he will be more forthcoming after dinner, tonight."
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1:55 p.m. East Coast time, Monday Morning, April 23, 2012, Somewhere over St. Louis, Missouri
The small jet has been making good time, averages just over 650 mph, just short of the 700 mph maximum speed. The pilot is – indeed – pushing the plane to the limit. The large black man in the back of the plane stated very clearly – and fiercely – that he wanted to be landed and in a car headed into the city by 3:30, and so the pilot has gained clearance at 47,000 feet and is making good time.
He cuts the intercom on to the rest of the plane.
"We are cruising easy right now," the pilot announces to the two passengers in the back. "I am estimating touch-down at 3:19 Eastern Time."
Willie Crockett simply smiles, still staring at the screen in front of him.
"Need anything else, Mr. Crockett?" the young Asian man questions.
"No Scooter, you have done exemplary work here," Crockett tells him. "I will make sure that Mr. Carlos is notified of your contributions."
The younger man is clearly pleased, smiling brightly.
"Thank you, Mr. Crockett, I appreciate that."
"Ambitious," Crockett thinks to himself, then loses himself in the task at hand. His notepad contains two addresses right now, people of interest that he will visit upon landing.
Scooter, also known as Ronald 'Scooter' Fuqua, is a senior at Stanford University. He is attending the prestigious private school on Sam Carlos' dime. He is along for this particular ride because of his incredible proficiency with networks and security. Those talents are coming in handy during this flight. While on the plane – via wi-fi – he has hacked into various cameras throughout the city of New York – from the NYPD network.
"Couple of firewalls . . . nothing special," the young computer geek had commented almost an hour ago as he began the laborious process.
Once in, they had quickly found the sedan on video and watched the taking of Alexis Castle. The young man had asked for instructions at that point.
Willie had already done a computer search for Martha Rodgers. After learning from Sam that Castle had stayed at his mother's house last night, getting an address for her residence was child's play. Now with that address, he knows where to begin the search. However, while the police department has predictably followed the perpetrators forward, wondering where they went, Willie Crockett is of a different mindset.
"Let's back it up, Scooter," Crockett had told the young man. I won't to know where these characters came from."
"Excuse me?" Scooter had asked, clearly confused.
"The police watch the perps conduct their crime, and their inclination is to follow them. They foolishly neglect to consider subterfuge in such matters."
"Such as?" the young man had questioned, clearly interested now.
"If I am a criminal, and I am kidnapping someone, I am going to be aware of cameras. Because I am aware of cameras, I am going to allow them to follow me," Crockett had told the man. "In fact, I will make it easy for them to follow me. To a point. Then, at some point, I would pull a switch. Best done in a building, some place public where cameras are less likely to exist . . . or where cameras can be controlled."
"So you allow them to see you go in one place –" young Scooter had realized.
"But while there, you switch things up. In the case of Miss Castle's kidnapping, I'm going to give our opponents the benefit of the doubt. I'm going to assume that they operate with planning and intelligence. I'm going to assume that wherever the chase leads us, it will hit a dead end. So rather than go toward that dead end, I want to backtrack. I want to know where these men came from."
"And what does that tell us, sir?" young Scooter had asked.
"It tells us where they met, Scooter. It tells us – eventually moving backwards enough, where they live. Who they are," Crockett told him. "Once I know who they are, and where they live, well then I no longer need to know where they took her. They will tell me."
"And if they don't?"
Willie Crockett had just smiled at the young man then, and it was a testament to young Scooter's strong will that he didn't wet himself on the spot. He has heard stories of what a smiling Willie Crockett is capable of doing.
Crockett's strategy has been solid up to this point. By following the trail backwards, he has seen the point where each man – individually – had entered the sedan. Then, ignoring the sedan, he has backed up even further to see where each man came from – again simply by following the city cameras and videos backward.
To this point, he has identified the driver, and where the driver lives. He has also identified one other man, the passenger who arrived in the front seat but switched to the back seat during the kidnapping.
Two men. He knows where they live.
He continues searching for the remaining two, simply because it gives him something to do. He knows that even if he doesn't find the remaining kidnappers, their 'friends' will give them up after the appropriate level of persuasion.
He glances at his watch and nods his head as he does a quick internal calculation. At this rate they will land in just under ninety minutes. Still a lot of time, but time is of the essence. He cannot waste any on the ground.
"Two in the hand is worth four in the bush," he mutters to himself, making the decision to delay searching for the remaining two at this point. More important is mapping out how he will get to the two residences he has discovered, and his plan of action once he gets there.
"Problem, Mr. Crockett?" young Scooter notices the change in his companion.
"Not at all, Scooter," he tells the young man. "Just a change in tactics."
He knows the young man questions everything because he is a sponge. He is observing and learning. It is part of the reason Carlos is high on the young man. That, of course, and an unusual intelligence for network security.
"I know where two of the men live," Crockett continues. "I don't know where the other two live. Once we land, however, time is not our ally. I need to get to both residences, and begin the interrogation process."
"Will I –"
"No, you will not be present for the . . . festivities, Scooter," Willie interrupts.
He knows the young man is intrigued. He also knows that the young man is not ready for this aspect of Sam Carlos' organization. Oh, Scooter may think he's ready. But Crockett knows he is not.
There is time for that later.
For now, however, Crockett pulls up a city map, now planning the best route he thinks he can take. He searches for the most expeditious route that will get him to Destination A and then Destination B as quickly as possible. Hopefully, it will only take the two conversations – and perhaps if he is really, really lucky, only one conversation.
He considers the possibilities that could occur with such . . . discussions. He stares out the window for a few moments, eyes closed. For a moment, Scooter wonders if the big man has fallen asleep. Just as suddenly, Crockett opens his eyes and reaches for the telephone attached to his seat. He punches digits to a specific phone number, then allows the device to go through the ringing functions.
"Yes, my friend," Sam Carlos answers.
"I apologize for calling," Crockett begins. "I'm halfway there, and should be landing in an hour and a half."
"You're making good time, Willie," Sam tells him. "And never apologize for calling me. You know this."
"Thank you, sir," Crockett allows. "I just want to make sure of this. I have a plan in mind. I have two of the perpetrators identified. You said 'send a message.' I just want to make sure –"
"No limitations, my friend," Sam interrupts, knowing what Willie Crockett is asking. It is not often that Sam Carlos turns this particular weapon loose with no restrictions.
"Just making sure," Crockett replies. "Thank you, sir. I will call you soon."
Both men hang up at the same time. However, 'Scooter' Fuqua can readily see the change that has come over his companion. The jovial, explanatory traveler is gone. In it's place is something else entirely. The young man cannot contain the series of shudders that overcome him as he watches what he can only describe as a sinister transformation take place. Crockett places a toothpick in his mouth, and begins whistling an old Scorpions tune as he gazes at the city map, routing his path for once they land.
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A/N: We are well into this story now. All – okay, most of the players are in place now. Thank you to everyone following this story. Stay safe.