Disclaimer: I do not own Castle or the recognizable characters who appear in this story. Any other names, for characters or businesses, are fictional, uncompensated, or are in the public domain.
"Lanie, can I ask you a favor?"
The medical examiner doesn't immediately reply, instead finishing her notes on the crime scene so the body can be released to the lab techs and taken back to OCME. At least she appears to be taking notes. Given the frosty relationship between her and Beckett, it might be a stalling technique.
"I'll request a rush on the lab work, detective," Lanie answers in anticipation of the favor. Without looking up, she turns to move toward the coroner's van. Her displeasure at the tense state of her friendship with the detective is more than apparent by her tone.
"Lanie, please," Beckett requests again, dropping her voice. "I know I haven't been a good friend. I told you why I didn't call during the summer…"
"You think that's what this is about?" Lanie cuts over her. "Kate, you've been back for months. Yes, you told me about the summer," she agrees, her cold tone making it clear that she's still upset about the lack of communication then, "but what about since you've been back? I'm not stupid. I know something's going on. Not that you'd actually talk to me about it."
"It's dangerous," Beckett offers, the justification sounding feeble even in her own ears. "I don't want anyone else at risk."
"That's my decision, don't you think?" Lanie fires back. "What would you say if Castle kept something from you for your own good? Oh, wait, I guess we won't know, since you've run him off."
Beckett presses her hands together and raises them to her forehead as she looks down to think. She can't really blame Lanie for her anger or for her assumption that Beckett's behavior forced Castle to leave. In fact, before she was shot, she'd tried to do exactly that – something for which she still carries a fair amount of guilt, despite the efforts of her therapist. But she can't correct Lanie's assumptions without telling her what's going on.
Perhaps she should confide in her friend? Each new person brought it increases the chances that they'll attract notice, from Gates if not from someone more nefarious. But, she thinks, it's really only her team that knows the broader dimensions of their efforts. Maybe she should share enough with Lanie to allow her friend to make her own decision. It's only fair, she supposes, since she was about to ask Lanie to provide them with some cover.
"Can we talk in the van?" Beckett asks, getting first a raised eyebrow and then a curt nod in reply.
"So?" Lanie prompts a few minutes later after they've climbed into the front of the van, leaving confused detectives and med techs milling about the crime scene, looking in vain for direction.
"When I was away," Beckett starts to speak in a tone so low that Lanie needs to lean over to hear her, "the people who tried to kill me took Castle. They tortured him for almost a week, first physically then mentally. Then they threatened to do horrible things to Alexis unless he helped them."
Lanie groans, her fierce, offended look replaced with one of horror. "That's why they disappeared? I thought it was because you…" Lanie doesn't complete her sentence, but Beckett feels the guilt nonetheless.
"You knew they're gone?" Beckett asks, moving to the comment that surprised her rather than lingering on Lanie's assumption.
"I haven't heard anything from Castle or Alexis," she replies. "Thought it was because you two broke up."
"Alexis and Martha are hidden away somewhere under fake names," Beckett offers, watching Lanie's eyes open wide at this revelation. "Alexis is fine. I don't know what happened to Martha. Something bad."
"Oh, Kate," Lanie groans in dismay, shaking her head. "Is Castle alright?"
"No," Beckett answers truthfully. "Physically… they hurt him Lanie," she confesses with a sniffle. "They whipped him raw. His back's tangled mess of scars," she whispers, her eyes closed as she remembers the gruesome scene from the Haunt. "And then they burned him," she continues to the sound of Lanie's sniffles. "Electrical burns to his torso so he'd still be in pain if he favored his back."
"Dear God," Lanie moans, making the sign of the cross as she offers a prayer for her sweet, good-natured friend. "What about mentally?" she asks, remembering how Beckett started her description.
"Mentally…," Beckett starts slowly, gathering her thoughts. "Mentally, he's even worse," she confesses, finally letting some of her fear for Castle shine through. She keeps up a front for the boys as part of her effort to show them that she can let Castle lead the investigation. But, privately, she's terrified – terrified of what's he's done, what deals he's made, and what kind of harm might befall him. She can't talk to Burke, either, with his reporting requirements. She can't even talk to her father for fear of prompting a relapse or fracturing their newfound closeness. She's really an idiot for not confiding in her friend earlier.
"I'm not surprised," Lanie offers in a low whisper. "Overcoming a trauma like that…"
"That's not the problem, at least not yet," Beckett interrupts her friend. "He's on a rampage. He's sold everything he owned and is using the money to go after the people who hurt us, who threatened Alexis. You think I had an unhealthy fixation with my mom's case? I've got nothing on Castle."
Lanie looks at her friend, trying to decide if Beckett's being honest. And not just because the words seem so foreign, but also because of the odd tone.
"You're proud of him," Lanie guesses after cocking her head and looking at her friend. "You're afraid, but you also sound… impressed?"
Maybe she shouldn't have talked to Lanie after all, Beckett reverses herself again. She can be uncomfortably accurate in reading Beckett's moods and tones.
"I'm afraid of what he's done, what he might do," Beckett admits. "I'm afraid of the people he's enlisted to help. I'm afraid of what might happen if they take him again," she finishes her litany of fears with a low tone. Then, she raises her head and looks at her friend. "But I'm also in awe of him. He's gonna be the one who pulls the whole thing down. He's hidden himself away so well that we can't find a trace of him – if he hadn't given me a way to send him messages, I'd never be able to find him. He's rattling cages and making plans. And he's miles ahead of me."
"What do you mean?" Lanie asks, her smile at hearing Beckett's admiration giving way to confusion.
"I'm trying to work the case, too. Not in competition with him, which was my first instinct. I'm trying to show him I can help," she offers with a self-conscious shrug. "But every time I track something down, I find out he's already been there."
"Is he following you?" Lanie asks with a perched brow, wondering if Castle's just taken his supposed 'creepy staring' to a new level.
"No," Beckett huffs, knowing what her friend is thinking about. "He leaves letters. Then I know that aspect of the investigation has been run down. I expect I'll find another one today, since we're following up on something he was working on before they took him."
"Is this the favor you were going to ask?"
"Yeah," Beckett replies. "We're still on a short leash with the new Captain."
"I've heard," Lanie interjects. "Javi's not too fond of her."
"None of us are," Beckett agrees. "Except Castle," she corrects herself with a roll of her eyes. "And just when she rescinded the requirement to log all of our movements in advance, the boys went on their disastrous little unauthorized adventure. So, now we can't go anywhere without logging in and out. But I'd like to make a stop on the way back to the precinct."
"You mean you'll stop by my morgue, where we'll discuss your new case for, what – half-an-hour? Forty-five minutes?" Lanie asks with a knowing look, providing an alibi without a direct request.
"Forty-five minutes will do nicely," Beckett answers with a small smile. "Thank you, Lanes. I'm sorry I've kept you on the outside of this."
"I trust you won't make that mistake again," her friend replies fiercely, though with a smile.
"I won't," Beckett agrees. "I'm learning from my mistakes. I've made quite a few so it's talking me longer than I'd like, but I'm trying."
"Maybe you need your partner to help," Lanie suggests shrewdly.
"He is," Beckett replies honestly and earnestly. "And I'm helping him, too. He told me," she confesses with a blush.
"Well, well, well," Lanie offers with a smug grin. "Sounds like some people I know might actually be…," she gasps and slaps her hands to her cheeks in a look of shock, "talking about their feelings?!"
"Shut up," Beckett moans as her blush deepens. Then, after taking a quick breath to reclaim her composure, she makes another confession. "Like I said: I'm trying."
"Just be careful, please," Lanie reminds her, probably thinking about the investigation if not Beckett's fragile heart. "Take care of yourself."
"I will," Beckett promises as she reaches for the door handle. But then she pauses and turns back to her friend. "You didn't know about what's going on with Castle?" she asks, thinking this through. He probably put plans in motion, but he apparently hasn't reached out to Lanie directly. Hopefully, that was to keep a low profile and not because of security concerns, otherwise she's made a dire mistake. And, shockingly, it sounds like Espo hasn't said anything to her, either.
When Lanie shakes her head, Beckett sighs and offers one last explanation. In for a penny…, she thinks. "He's made arrangements for us, including you. Safe places we can go if things start getting out of hand. If he hasn't mentioned anything, I'm sure he's got something in place. Promise me, Lanie," she begs her friend. "If anyone calls you and tells you to run, please run. We can sort it all out later, but stay safe."
Lanie gives her an odd look, then reaches across the seat to hug her friend. "I've missed you, Kate. I've been so worried about you."
"I'll be okay," Beckett replies, swallowing her concerns and qualms to fuel some optimism. She's about to thank her friend for her concern when she instead they both jump and squeal (though Beckett would deny making any noise) after a sharp rap on the window startles them both.
Looking furious, Lanie turns to the window to see a wide grin from Esposito. Ryan's standing several yards behind him shaking his head. "Is this like a slumber party?" Esposito says loudly to be heard through the van's window. "Where are the pajamas and pillows?"
"Javier Esposito," Lanie growls as she kicks the door open, nearly knocking him away from the vehicle. "I promise you – after that little stunt, the last thing you have to worry about is seeing me in my sleepwear."
"What?" Esposito replies, sounding more panicked than contrite. "It was just a joke…"
"I agree," Lanie says fervently as she climbs out of the van and sees Beckett round the front of the vehicle, also looking less than pleased. Letting her gaze drop from Esposito's face and down to his lower half, she finishes her thought. "It is a joke," she says with an emphatic nod.
"What? No," Esposito replies, masculine pride injured by her comment and Ryan's stifled chuckle.
"Let's roll," Beckett says tersely, embarrassed about being caught out at a crime scene and irritated that the boys need to tag along so her absence at the precinct isn't emphasized. Ryan falls into line but Esposito looks torn between joining them and trying to mollify Lanie. Her glare finally sends him on his way, mind furiously working on how to get him out of this predicament.
"You have the address?" Beckett asks Ryan, who nods. "Lanie will cover for us – well, for you and I, anyway," she says to Ryan, deepening Esposito's concerns. "I'll meet you there."
Beckett pulls around to the back of the firehouse, making sure to keep her cruiser out of the way in case the trucks need to roll during their visit. It takes only a few minutes for the boys to join her. Without a word, they fall into step and enter the firehouse.
The entrance of three members of the NYPD commands immediate attention. The detectives ignore the grumbling and push towards the back of the house where the administrative offices are located. A lone wolf-whistle breaks through the tension and causes some chuckles among the firefighters.
"Sorry, guys, but I'm taken," Ryan offers apologetically, prompting stifled smirks from his teammates.
A few more steps and they reach the office they need and Beckett raps on the door. They interpret a grunt from within to mean they should enter, so Beckett pushes the door open and nearly steps back in surprise. The office is comically small – the desk must've been built within the office, as its girth leaves precious few square feet of available space. She slides into the gap between the front of the desk and the wall, leaving the boys to linger in the doorway.
"Mr. Halstead?" she asks, getting a nod from the man crammed behind the desk. "I'm Kate Beckett," she offers, pulling her jacket open to show the badge on her belt. "I'm here to ask you about an old warehouse fire you investigated in…"
"Union City," Halstead interrupts, nodding his head. "You're the detective, right?" he asks as he looks away from her to unlock the lower drawer of his desk. There's not enough room to fully open the drawer, so Halstead grunts while he tries to contort his arm inside. Watching his efforts, all Beckett can think of is someone who's trying to steal something from a vending machine by reaching up through the dispensing slot.
"Yes, I'm Detective Beckett," she agrees with a pursed mouth. "I take it you have a letter for me?"
"Right… here!" Halstead exclaims as he finally manages to extract his hand from the desk drawer, the dove gray envelope in his hand looking a bit rumpled from its rough treatment.
Beckett sighs, reaching out to take the now-familiar letter from Halstead. It's not really a surprise for exactly the reason she shared with Lanie – this is the track of the investigation Castle started immediately after her shooting. They know Montgomery, Raglan, and McAllister took payments and hoped the banking records from back then would give them an investigative avenue to pursue. In some ways, she would've been disappointed if Castle hadn't run this lead down. But she'll confess to growing frustrated that she's turned up nothing new.
"Can you tell me when he left this letter?" Beckett asks, since Castle's notes aren't usually dated.
"A month or two ago?" Halstead replies, eyes looking up as he tries to remember the details. "Not sure. A while ago, anyway. Thought he was crazy at the time, asking questions about an old warehouse fire and coming back later to leave a letter behind. But he described you well and promised that passing the letter along might save me a whole lot of hassle. If I've already got the Feds poking around I don't need the NYPD, too."
"He was a Fed?" Beckett asks in surprise, catching the boys looking at each other in her peripheral version.
"Yeah," Halstead replies, wondering why this was a surprise. "Badge and all, though I didn't see a gun," he says while nodding toward Esposito and Ryan, whose service weapons have been in plain sight since they entered the firehouse. "Why? Is he not really a Fed? That would explain why he was so polite."
"He's changed positions recently," Beckett answers vaguely. "I wasn't sure of his affiliation when he visited. Can I call you if I have any questions?" she asks while waving the letter.
"Sure," Halstead replies. He moves quicker than Beckett expected, pulling the envelope back out of her hand and scribbling his name and number on it while she cringes at the graffiti.
Anxious to avoid making them any more memorable to Halstead and, heaven forbid, giving him a reason to contact the 12th precinct with any questions, Beckett thanks him for conveying the letter and makes her departure.
"Castle's posing as a Fed?" Esposito asks before Beckett shushes him.
"Not here," she admonishes as she leads them back to their cars. Feeling paranoid, each detective is casting glances over their shoulders. Stymied by their current predicament, Beckett leads them past their cars and down the block to a subway entrance. They descend quickly, mindful of the need to get back to the precinct. A quick flash of the badges get them past the turnstiles and into a decrepit alcove out of the pedestrian flow.
"I don't know what's going on," Beckett offers without preamble once they stop. Huddled close to Ryan and Esposito, she keeps her voice low and trusts Esposito to keep a wary eye out for anyone who's paying them too much attention. "Castle said he hasn't broken any laws and flashing a fake badge would be a serious infraction," she offers. "I guess he could be a Fed now, given his connections. Or," she adds, "maybe Castle wasn't even here. Maybe it was that guy Lynch."
"We should've showed Castle's picture to Halstead," Ryan interjects before Esposito disagrees.
"No," he says, shaking his head but still scanning the subway station. "We already gave Halstead a reason to remember us. Best to get the letter and regroup. What's it say?"
"I don't know yet," Beckett answers. "I want to look at it before I pass it along." Even though she feels emotionally exposed by her admission, her words are loud and clear.
Esposito rolls his eyes as Ryan looks torn between annoyance and indulgence. Ryan spins in place to turn his back to Beckett and help Esposito watch for trouble. "Go on," he encourages. "We'll keep watch. Show us if you can."
The situation is hardly ideal, but Beckett relents. With a sigh, she slips a fingernail under the flap of the envelope and slowly moves it across the seam while making an effort to minimize the roughness of the tear.
Beckett,
You should thank me for sparing you a conversation with Halstead. He'd drive you crazy. He's very good at what he does, but he'd be a horrible detective – no imagination at all. As far as he's concerned, the warehouse fire was an accident. It was caused by a power surge to the junction box, something Halstead himself described as a "one in a million event."
I know you're itching to toss him in the box and tear him apart. I think that's unnecessary, but you're the professional. If you do pursue that route, you could ask him if he ever heard of Ray Hudson. As I'm sure you'll find out, Ray was a something of a specialist in industrial and business-interruption insurance fraud. He was particularly good at causing electrical mayhem, including fires. Unfortunately, your colleagues pulled Hudson out of the Hudson (no relation) with two slugs in his head three days after the warehouse fire. You'll be shocked to learn the slugs have gone missing from the NYPD evidence locker.
No, I didn't take them.
But while that evidence went missing, working in insurance made Ray something of a record-keeper. It took me a long time to track down his notes, but they make for an interesting read. Should I ever decide to write again, he'd make an intriguing character. Almost as intriguing as some of the people who hired him.
Happy hunting,
Castle
Beckett reads the letter three times before passing it to her colleagues. She keeps watch while they read, her mind picking at the deviations in this missive.
"Weird," Ryan offers. "It's different."
"You sure this is from Castle?" Esposito asks, turning the letter over to see if there's anything written on the back.
"I'm sure. I can hear the words in his voice," Beckett replies. "Plus, it's got his symbol."
"This little scribble at the bottom?" Esposito asks. "I thought that was just a doodle. Figures he'd have a mark."
"I noticed a few differences," Beckett segues into a new conversation before Esposito can say anything derogatory. "It's the first time he's left information we can follow. The name of the arsonist, references to his clientele and his COD. We can run that down."
"Quietly," Ryan amends, getting nods from Beckett and Esposito.
"It also looks like he circled back to leave the letter. Not sure if that's because he wanted to track Ray down first or if he didn't originally intend to leave a note behind here. But," Beckett offers while thinking aloud, "from the tone, I'm guessing he left this after I told him I wanted to help in the investigation."
"'Happy hunting,'" Esposito says, repeating the closing comments of the letter. "He knows you're working the case."
"And he either doesn't think there's anything to find here," Beckett nods in reply, "or he's encouraging me to help."
Several days later, Beckett's hopefulness has waned and she finds herself wondering if Castle pointed them at a dead-end. Ray Hudson's a ghost – there's no evidence of him in the system at all. Had Castle not been clear about when the body was fished out of the river, they'd not even have found his John Doe records. How Castle connected that body to Hudson's identity still isn't clear.
The boys are frustrated, too, but not entirely because of this avenue of investigation. After what happened last week, they're anxious to get out of the precinct and the watchful eyes of their colleagues. Not many people know what happened, but the boys are nervous that the few who know will share the news. The story hasn't spread because Gates herself arrived at the scene and scared everyone into silence, but it's only a matter of time before someone blows it.
"I think I've got something," Ryan finally offers, just before lunch. Beckett and Esposito wander over, looking over Ryan's screen shoulder to see his computer screen.
"I gave up on trying to track him down by name," Ryan explains. "Instead, I started looking into insurance claims for losses and business interruptions in the three years leading up to the warehouse fire in Union City. Here they are," he says before hitting a few buttons and displaying a map with locations marked.
"So many," Beckett sighs, seeing red dots all over Queens and Manhattan.
"We can get rid of some of them," Ryan says optimistically. "He was supposed to be a pro, right? Who'd hire a pro for a small claim? So, let's just look at the more expensive claims," he says, hitting a few more keys are removing more than half of the dots. "Still a lot, but it's more manageable."
"So, we look into these places and figure out who benefited?" Esposito asks, nodding along. "We can skip past figuring out who he was and just look into his clients."
"Yeah," Ryan replies. "Union City might not've been the first job he pulled for who we're looking for. Just the last."
On that somber note, Beckett thanks Ryan and turns back toward her desk to help him winnow the list of possible sites of Hudson's mayhem. She's only taken a few steps when she's flagged down by an officer escorting a DHL delivery person. Beckett steps over to the unfortunate courier who's forced to dress in red and yellow. She signs for a parcel about the size that could house some sexy mid-calf boots, but she doubts that's what's inside. As the officer escorts the courier back to the elevator, she turns the box over to find yet another dove gray envelope secured beneath the packing tape. The envelope reads:
Ryan and Esposito
Care of Detective Katherine Beckett, 12th Precinct
"It's for you guys," she says with a nod to her teammates as she takes the box to their joined desks. "Just let me get the letter, first."
Opening a scissors as wide as it will go, Beckett traces the outline of the letter, pulling the rectangular envelope free before stepping aside to let the boys open the box.
Beckett,
Maybe taking the money will sound a little more appealing to the boys after their close call? I thought I might need to keep an eye out to ensure their safety, but not from threats like this!
Can you imagine if it had been us, though? I could probably even have overlooked the few ways in which it differed from some of my daydreams of spending time with you.
Enjoy the show,
Castle
"Presents?" Ryan asks as he pulls two lumpy packages from the box. "There's only two – didn't he get you anything?" The question, along with the vibrant wrapping paper, catches the attention of others in the bullpen as well as his boss.
"Mine's in the letter," Beckett replies with a smile, suspecting she knows what's about to happen. "You guys go ahead."
Ryan shrugs and hands the larger package to Esposito. Both tear into the paper while Beckett slyly removes the box. Smiles suddenly turn to looks of panic as the boys try to cover their gifts before any of their curious colleagues notice.
It's too late, of course. Beckett weaves an arm around Esposito and squeezes the plush stuffed tiger that had been wrapped in his package. The tiger lets out a ferocious growl, barely audible over the boisterous laughs of their colleagues.
Esposito looks flummoxed, blushing more radiantly than Beckett can ever recall. Ryan's trying to be clever, using his partner's discomfiture as cover as he slips his hands behind his back and starts to shuffle away from the attention. His careful observation of the group in front of him leaves him blind, however, to Karpowski's sneaky flanking maneuver. Before he knows it, she's tugged his present out of his hands and proudly lifts the plush handcuffs above his head, restarting another round of laughter.
Beckett slips back to her desk as the denizens of the bullpen surround Esposito and Ryan to inspect their gifts and join in the teasing, now that the tiger's out of the bag. She's about to sit in her chair when she's surprised to hear Gates' voice from directly behind her.
"He did seem to enjoy that story," Gates offers slyly before returning to her office, leaving Beckett gaping. She talked to Castle about what happened with the tiger? What in the hell are they doing talking to each other?
"I'm gonna kill him," Esposito growls the following week as the three return to the precinct after lunch. Ever since Castle's gifts arrived, the boys haven't returned to their desks without finding tiger paraphernalia littered about – stickers, figurines, bean-bag animals, coloring books, even National Geographic prints (one of which Beckett saved for herself). And Frosted Flakes cereal, the one with the animated tiger character – there've been boxes and boxes left for the boys. The break room pantry is filled with the stuff and still it piles up.
Like the rest of them, Esposito's on edge today. They've had a run of bad cases, but what's really bothering them is the tension of suspecting something big is going to happen. Castle's out in California for his book signing today and they're wondering if his return to his former life is a convenient way of establishing an alibi.
Worse, each of them kind of hopes that's what's going on, since their own investigations haven't borne results. Ryan continues to slowly pare down the list of potential Hudson targets, his efforts hampered by shoddy records and short corporate memories for old insurance claims. Esposito's theory that Castle might still be using the secret tunnels to the Haunt hasn't panned out, though there's such a tangled maze beneath the streets in that area it's hard to tell. Beckett's attempts to backtrack any evidence or files relating to Ray Hudson have come up empty. And none of them have been able to find where Castle received medical treatment after his torture this summer.
Settling into their desks, Ryan adds the latest round of tiger props to a bankers box that they'll later drop off with Child Welfare. Turning to paperwork, each detective watches the clock, feeling oddly like they're on a stakeout even though they're sitting in the middle of the bullpen. Gates contributes to the tension by checking in on them several times over the afternoon, never speaking but making it obvious that she's keeping track of them.
It's almost a relief, then, when Gates emerges from her office shortly before quitting time and approaches them.
"Grab your things, we've got a scene," she offers brusquely, barely breaking stride as she heads toward the elevator.
The detectives look at each other in alarm as they realize that Gates will accompany them to wherever they're going. Unwilling to antagonize her at the outset of the journey, they make sure they're at her side when the elevator arrives. A charged silence reigns until they depart the precinct, when Gates informs them that they'll all ride in Beckett's car.
"Lights on, Detective," Gates says as they pull out of the depot, surprising the team anew. Beckett flips on her red-and-blues, which don't help nearly as much as Hollywood movies or television dramas would suggest. Still, every bit helps they crawl through the evening rush.
Gates feeds directions to Beckett throughout the trip, seeming to watch the detective carefully for any signs that the destination is already known. After nearly 45 minutes they arrive at a dockside industrial area. Strobe lights and official vehicles provide the rest of the directions as Beckett delivers the group to a small building behind a waterfront warehouse, probably the machine shop for the forklifts and other equipment used to prepare cargo for transport.
Once out of the car, Gates leads them to the security cordon, where a tall, middle-aged woman in a suit awaits them.
"Eileen," Gates greets, raising a hand.
"Victoria," the woman answers as they shake hands, neither smiling but both apparently comfortable.
"Detectives, this is Eileen Stern, Captain of the 22nd. She has a crime scene for us to inspect. You go on ahead, I need to speak with her."
So, it sounds like Bader and Sands finally turned up, Beckett thinks to herself. She doesn't need to see the quick glances from her teammates to know they're thinking the same thing. Silently, they duck under the yellow security ribbon and make their way inside the machine shop.
A detective and two uniforms from the 22nd linger on the edges of the scene, with two med-techs waiting near the back door. The shop is filthy – grease, oil, and gravel coat the exposed concrete floor and both of the workbenches tucked against the near wall. The air stinks of industrial solvents and the coppery tang of congealed blood.
Finally looking at the scene, Beckett marks four bodies. Two are sprawled nearby, both lying in tarry, red-black pools. Each shows signs of having been rolled and returned into position – the techs must've had to confirm identity, but then they put the victims back in place. It's not standard procedure, nor is leaving the bodies in place for so long. Clearly, this scene has already been logged and processed but was left intact (except for weapons) for the visitors from the 12th.
"This is a setup," Esposito whispers while he kneels beside on of the victims. "They're watching us to see what we do, how we react."
Beckett nods, then breaks away from the boys to walk to the other side of the room where the other two bodies repose. One, a blond woman, lies on her side, the gunshot wounds that ended her life clear on her torso. The other, a man stripped to the waist, remains shackled by one wrist and both ankles to metal fencing that partitioned the workbench from a small area that contains an ancient, soiled cot, a hot-plate, and a transistor radio. The power converter and electrical leads on the workbench, along with the burns, make it clear the man received some back-room electroshock therapy along with other attentions before he died. Cause of death is no mystery, given the two ragged holes in his chest and the river of dried blood that falls away from them.
As Beckett takes in the scene, the boys drift over and separate. Ryan inspects the workbench while Esposito steps into the hovel area. The take in details silently and without touching anything, sure to even keep hands in their pockets since as they know they're being observed.
"Beckett," Esposito whispers so quietly that she barely registers the noise. Turning slowly toward him, she sees his eyes travel to a spot on the floor before he drifts away to return to the first two bodies. Beckett knows his movements are intended to draw attention, so she slowly meanders to where he'd been, letting her eyes drop to where he'd indicated.
It takes her a moment to see what caught his attention. When she does, she's relies on her crime scene experience and fierce detective's demeanor to prevent any kind of visible reaction. There, where the corrugated steel wall meets the utilitarian floor and within arm's reach from the cot, is a small symbol scratched into the wall. It's a symbol she's seen often since her return to the precinct, just below Castle's signature on every letter he's left for her.
Is it a signature for this macabre piece of performance art or is it a remnant of his own time of torture? Could this be the place where he was held for those five, horrible days?
Reminding herself not to draw attention, Beckett turns slowly in place and looks again at the shackled man. Is that where they burned Castle? They could've had him strung up in exactly the same way, facing forward for the burns and backward for the whipping.
Slowly, Beckett walks away from the shackled man and back toward the first victims. After traveling about six feet, she stops and turns toward one of the workbenches she'd noticed on the way in. There, on a shelf below the working surface, lie several spooled extension cords, including one that's had the plug removed and rough end frayed.
Beckett feels her stomach curdle at the sight. This is it, she admits to herself. This is where the people who tried to kill her nearly killed Castle. She should feel bad about the victims strewn around her, but she can't bring herself to think about anything other than the image of that extension cord lacerating her partner's back.
"I'd like to hear your hypothesis about what happened here," Captain Stern says from the doorway, where she'd entered without Beckett's notice. Her question prompts the detectives from the 12th to join Stern and Gates, but no one says a word.
"Detectives?" Gates prompts. "Your evaluation?"
After looking at the stony faces of Esposito and Beckett, Ryan gulps and prepares to offer a theory. Just as he's about to speak, though, Beckett cuts him off with a raised hand.
"I refuse to participate without the presence of legal counsel and my union representative," she says clearly. "And I advise others on my team to do the same."
Stern arches a brow as she inspects Beckett, but she leaves the response to Gates.
"Really?" Gates asks with a forced calm that suggests an approaching explosion. "Lawyers and legal reps can't help you with dereliction of duty."
"This isn't duty," Beckett fires back, the confrontation a welcome respite from thinking about what's happened under this roof. "This is a witch hunt. A fishing expedition."
Gates looks ready to spit, but Stern instead steps in, still leveling an assessing stare. "How so?"
"This is obviously a setup," Beckett answers, her eye roll accentuated by crossed arms and nods from Esposito and Ryan. "This scene is old. You've obviously already processed everything except the bodies, which you left in place far longer than you should have."
Stern nods along. "To what end?"
"You tell me," Beckett shrugs. "This clearly has something to do with Bader and Sands, since we were warned off that case and told you'd be handling it."
"Astute," Stern offers not to Beckett but instead to Gates, who gives a grudging nod in reply. "Okay detectives. I'll answer the question that was posed to you. Here's what we think happened. These two," she says while pointing at the two bodies on the floor, the first victims Beckett inspected, "were interrogating or torturing that guy," she says while pointing to the shackled body. "They leave and she," Stern says while pointing at the female victim, "comes in the back door and tries to free the prisoner. Only one restraint is undone before these two return unexpectedly. Then it's the OK Corral and we're left with four dead bodies."
"At least," Stern adds after a pregnant pause, "that's what we're supposed to think. But there's a problem."
Beckett furrows her brow, turning to take in the scene. It's difficult to take it all in since it's been processed and the weapons have been removed. But something does feel a little strange.
"Nobody missed," Esposito grunts as he makes the connection. Spinning in place, the detectives from the 12th look around the machine shop. Gunfire would've ripped right through the prefabricated walls. But there are no holes behind any of the victims.
"They're good," Stern offers more praise to Gates before turning back to the detectives. "That's right. We've got a torture scene, an interrupted rescue, guns blazing, and perfect, deadly marksmanship. All the brass is accounted for," she offers, letting the detectives know that every shell casing found at the scene was matched to a hit. "You tell me, detectives: what are the odds that not one of these poor, sorry fools missed a shot in the situation suggested by these circumstances."
"Highly unlikely," Ryan offers.
"Damn near impossible," Esposito corrects. "Anyone good enough to shoot like that would've known to move for cover. They wouldn't've all gone down where they were standing."
"Agreed," Stern nods again. "Do you recognize anyone?" When the detectives shake their heads, Stern nods again and wanders over to the first two bodies Beckett inspected. "Bader," Stern says while pointing before moving her hand slightly. "Sands."
Beckett nods, unsurprised. Stern, meanwhile, starts to move toward the other two bodies. "We don't know who they are. No ID and prints aren't in any system we've checked so far. Do you recognize them?"
Again, the detectives shake their heads. This time, though, Stern seems unwilling to let the topic drop. She walks to the shackled man and with no regard reaches up, grabs a handful of hair, and turns the victim's head so his face is more easily seen.
"Detective Beckett," Stern calls out, "are you sure you've never seen this man before?"
"I don't know who that is," Beckett replies, starting to get irritated again. "I don't recall ever seeing him before."
"Well, he's seen you," Stern replies, releasing her grip on the victim's hair and leaving his head cocked at an odd angle. "According to the DNA test, he's the one who saw you through the scope of a sniper rifle."
A/N: I fear that the delivery timing for this update will be the new norm until late March. Corporate shenanigans and daunting deadlines are stealing much of my time. And, in the few free hours remaining, I've been teaching my daughter to drive on the DC beltway. Terrifying. On the plus side, while I'm sleeping less than when I was a young man, I'm traveling quite a bit, too, so perhaps I can steal some time on long flights to get some writing done.