Disclaimer: I do not own Castle or the recognizable characters who appear in this story. Any other names, for characters or businesses, are fictional.
Week Eight
"Status update on the Webber case?" Montgomery requests as he approaches Beckett's team, which is currently gathered around the murderboard.
"We're still working through the numbers that appear on his phone records, home and office," Beckett supplies, her tone belying her frustration. "Nothing there so far, and we're crossing off the frequent calls, so the deeper we dive the less likely we'll find anything of interest," she says to Montgomery's ready nod. While it's possible that an infrequent caller is involved, it's much more often the case that if the phone records are useful, it's a high-frequency or recent call that provides the lead they need.
"Workplace?" Montgomery prompts.
"Environmental advocacy group," Esposito answers. "Seems to be a true believer, so it wasn't just to annoy dad, who's an executive at BP. Small operation, seems okay on funding. But they freak out about killing cows for leather, so it doesn't seem like a likely place to find someone who drilled a human with a .357. But we're looking."
"Hobbies, organizations, side jobs?" Montgomery asks, starting to appreciate the lack of handles for their investigation.
"Outdoors stuff," Ryan answers. "Running club, kayaking. No religious affiliation, but he does some volunteer work. Childhood literacy at a local elementary school, mostly."
Now looking grim, Montgomery reviews the board again. "Forensics?"
"Gun's not in the system," Beckett answers, "and no shell casing. One shot, pressed against his sternum behind a pillow from the sofa. But the shot probably didn't matter. It looks like he answered the door for someone with the chain lock engaged. Our perp forced the door open, breaking the chain, and used his gun as a bludgeon. Lanie says the blunt force trauma to the head most likely would've killed Webber. As it was, he was probably unconscious when the shot finished him off."
"And nothing was taken?" Montgomery confirms. "So, rage. Someone wanted to hurt Will Webber, beating him nearly to death before remembering it was a gun in hand, not a truncheon. But then taking the time, and risking the noise, for a shot." The detectives nod along, unsurprised that the captain is treading the same ground they've covered. "Next steps?"
"Ryan and Espo are going to check in with the father, see if there's anything there that might point to a potential motive," Beckett answers. "I'm going to check with the school and the running club. Just a hunch," Beckett shrugs at Montgomery's inquisitive look.
"Okay," Montgomery blesses the plan. "Doesn't sound like we have much to go on. I want an update by this time tomorrow; we can push hard until the end of the week, other cases permitting. But after that, you know our odds," he reminds them, getting glum nods in return. "So, get moving," he says, catching Beckett's eye and looking toward his office.
Taking his meaning, Beckett dawdles so that Ryan and Esposito leave the precinct ahead of her. The elevator doors have barely closed before she's knocking on Montgomery's door, getting waved in.
"I'm not going to say anything about making sure you're not drawing this out for the sake of your data project," Montgomery says to start their interview. "I trust you, Beckett. Run it as you see fit."
"Thank you, sir," a nonplussed Beckett replies, the thought of letting other concerns like Castle's return to the precinct affect her effort on the case foreign to her.
"But I called you in for your other project," Montgomery pushes. "You're still looking into the DA's office, right?" he asks without waiting for her answer. "Things are going to blow there soon, so you need to be ready."
"I'm pushing, sir," she replies, a little put out. "It feels like you know where to look but you're not telling me. Is there something I'm missing?"
"Yes."
When Montgomery says nothing more, Beckett stares at him until she starts to grow annoyed. "That's it? Yes?" she pushes, and the Captain continues to remain silent. "Will I recognize whatever it is when I find it?"
"Yes," Montgomery promises. "In fact, I think you might be the only one who will."
"Hi, Alexis, come in," Beckett welcomes, holding the door to her apartment open for Castle's daughter. Beckett's look turns from a welcoming smile to one of mild exasperation as she sees the takeout bag Alexis carries into the apartment. "I thought we were just having coffee?"
"I remember dad's comments about how often you skip meals," Alexis replies with a sly smile, "and I still feel bad that you paid for our burgers and milkshakes. So, now we have something to snack on while we talk, or you have leftovers for tomorrow."
"You Castles," Beckett grumbles good-naturedly as she leads Alexis to the dining table, "you're always taking care of people."
"Sorry," Alexis says happily, clearly not sorry in the slightest. "It's a bad habit. I don't think we'll be able to break it," she laments with a smile.
"I hope not," Beckett mumbles in reply, surprised that Alexis hears her and smiles wider in reply. Embarrassed yet again, she turns to tonight's agenda. "What did you bring me?"
"Besides chicken pad thai?" Alexis asks with a wink, showing off that she remembers Beckett's favorites. "I've got a draft of my admissions essay, my transcript, my resume, and the itinerary for my visits this summer," she says, setting a folder down on the table. That these files could've been emailed is an obvious point on which neither woman remarks.
"Can I just say, again, how disgusting it is that you're this organized?" Beckett asks while shaking her head, retrieving plates and flatware for their meal. "I thought I was on top of things back when I applied, but I wasn't even in your league."
"It's important," Alexis answers with a shrug, blushing slightly.
Beckett realizes her mistake quickly, and though she's not always one for physical affection, she follows her instincts. After setting the dining ware on the table, she walks next to Alexis' chair and puts her hand on the girl's back, just below her neck. Rubbing gently, she tries to make sure her comments are clear. "That wasn't criticism, Alexis, it was envy," she says earnestly. "I can talk about how you're so much more organized than I was back then, but that's only because I don't want to admit that in some important ways you're more put together than I am now."
Well, that backfired, Beckett thinks as she watches Alexis' blush fully bloom, shortly before the girl lowers her head. "See?" she says, reaching for the joking tone that she'd heard so often from Castle, "I can't even encourage you well," Beckett laments facetiously as she removes her hand and goes about distributing the food as an excuse to give Alexis a reprieve. "I'm sorry I embarrassed you."
"Curse of the redhead," Alexis murmurs, still looking down. "When we blush, everyone knows."
"It might not feel like it," Beckett offers, "but it looks lovely."
"Not helping," Alexis grumbles, pulling a laugh from Beckett.
"Okay, dropping it," Beckett replies, retrieving the water pitcher from the refrigerator and filling two glasses. "I'll look at these tonight and put together some comments," she says, switching gears back to the ostensible reason for their meeting. "You have writers lined up for your rec letters?"
"Mostly," Alexis answers, curiously looking no more comfortable even though they've switched topics. "There are a few schools that want extra letters or prefer letters from certain kinds of people."
"Really?" Beckett asks. "I don't remember having to deal with that. From whom do they want letters?"
"A few schools specify the need for a letter from someone who's not a teacher. My advisor says that's so they can get a sense of who I am outside of the classroom," Alexis replies, before dipping into her meal, some kind of soup. "Others suggest letters from employers or from people who knew me since before high school would be preferred."
"Seems a little extreme," Beckett replies while thinking that she's glad these extra hoops weren't there for her applications, "but I guess I can see where they're coming from. They're trying to build a community, not just a classroom."
"That's a much less cynical take than what dad had to say about it," Alexis says with a smile.
"Cynical?" Beckett repeats. "Castle's never really struck me as a cynic."
"He'd say 'realist' in this respect, and he might be right," Alexis allows. "His theory is that most 'braniacs' end up with happy, successful careers. But the visionaries, the wildly successful people – the ones who achieve something great in business or government or policy or arts – sometimes they have something different, something that's tough to see in standardized test scores or transcripts. Colleges want to be affiliated with the successes of those people and want the generous alumni donations that follow, so they're working hard to figure out a way to find the superstars as well as the high-achievers."
"I can see his point," Beckett allows, letting this theory roll around her head. Really, it's not so outlandish compared to many of his theories, and the context of his life provides some insight into its foundation. "Goodness knows Stanford's alumni giving group found me soon enough after I was promoted. And I don't even have a degree from there!"
"Dad always laughs about how the best detectives work for the alumni giving departments of colleges and universities. Despite changing his name and moving to an unlisted address with an unlisted phone number, Dad said there was never a pause in the arrival of donation requests from his alma mater," Alexis says with a laugh. "So, there you go, Kate. If you ever get tired of chasing murderers, you can move into academia and deal with the real criminals."
"Now who's the cynic?" Beckett asks with a laugh, getting a smile in return. "So, you've got a few holes in your rec letter strategy. Any I can fill?"
Her innocent question causes the smile to fall from Alexis' face with a nearly physical motion, putting a quick damper on the frivolity of the conversation.
"I'm sorry," Beckett apologizes, not really sure what's gone wrong but concerned about upsetting Alexis again. "It was just a thought."
"No, it's…," Alexis trails off, struggling to find a grip on this conversation. She starts again, then stops, frustrated. Finally, with a deep breath, she seems to back up on their conversational path. "I'm a little ahead of the game. My apps aren't due until autumn," she explains, getting a nod from Beckett. "That's still months away."
Beckett nods again, giving Alexis the space to follow her thoughts.
"Rec letters are supposed to come from people like teachers, bosses, instructors," she explains. "I was kinda hoping," she says, blushing and looking down yet again, "that by the time I need to send in applications, you'd be too close to us to be objective."
"Oh, Alexis," Beckett answers quietly, reaching out to clasp her hand. "I hope so, too."
"Thank you, Vice Principal Hardy, we'll look into it right away," Beckett says as she rings off, placing the handset in its cradle even as she stands. "Sorry, boys," she calls out to her teammates who were looking longingly at the elevator doors while contemplating their escape, "we've got a lead."
Though it's been a long week and they were anxious to go home, both Esposito and Ryan are professional enough to launch into action without whining or suggesting a delay for the remainder of the weekend. "What's up, boss?" Esposito asks.
"Remember the childhood literacy work Webber was doing at the elementary school?" she asks as she presses the elevator's call button. "I just got a call from the vice principal. Her librarian – Meghan Malloy – has been out all week. She didn't think to mention it because Meghan requested the time before we showed up to ask questions. But the vice principal got another email from her tonight, saying she won't be in next week, either. She doesn't have the vacation time, and the vice principal said she's living on a shoestring."
"So, you think she might be involved, might be hiding out?" Ryan asks as they step aboard the elevator.
"Ms. Malloy transferred to the school last year after walking out of an abusive relationship," Beckett answers in a somber tone. "After her young son 'fell down the stairs.'"
"Oh, shit," Esposito growls. "Let me guess – jealous ex thinks something's going on between Ms. Malloy and the visiting volunteer?"
"Maybe," Beckett agrees. "Ms. Malloy's not answering her phone, so that's our first stop."
Texting the address to her teammates just before the elevator releases them onto the ground floor, Beckett breaks from them to take her own cruiser. It's already past end-of-shift and Webber was helping at a school in a rough neighborhood, so they have a long drive ahead of them, after which they'll want to head directly home. So, Beckett piles into her cruiser alone, fires up the engine, and casts a forlorn glimpse at the uncomfortable, empty passenger seat next to her before heading towards Meghan Malloy's address, a run-down area where old townhouses have been converted into apartments.
Twenty minutes later, she's approaching the address when her phone rings. "We got trouble," Esposito's voice says ominously from the speaker phone, though Beckett's last turn provides details before Esposito can speak them. Lights are already flashing as Beckett's forced to turf her cruiser outside the perimeter established by emergency vehicles already on the scene. As she steps out of the cruiser and her team approaches, she smells smoke and looks to see flames licking at the townhouse complex.
"Come on," Beckett says authoritatively when the boys stop to take in the scene. Pressing forward and navigating around fleeing residents and the EMTs who shepherd them or call out to those who might need assistance, Beckett cuts a path toward the building before someone steps in front of her to block her path.
The dark-haired man in her way is about to say something when the sound of a gunshot rings out even above the din of the activity. And then, just barely discernable, the sound of a woman's terrified scream.
"No!" someone shouts just in front of them, just as a firefighter runs towards the door to the townhouse. The firefighter who'd been laying out hose nearby follows, though it's not clear if he or she is trying to assist or prevent a rescue plan. Even as the first firefighter kicks open the door, flames are clearly visible within the building. But the firefighter charges forward, followed by the colleague.
"God dammit!" yells the man who'd blocked Beckett's path. Reaching for the mouthpiece on his shoulder, he barks out a demand. "Who the hell went in?" he yells as the activity around them seems to grow even more frenetic.
A static-laden squawk follows his inquiry, followed by a scratchy voice. "Tommy," the voice answers before trailing off with another squawk. "And Rick."
No. It can't be.
Beckett stands frozen as the pieces fall into place. The strength training. The odd shifts. The colleagues who don't think much of the NYPD. The perils – the perils Martha mentioned as she tried to assure Beckett that Castle was being careful in his post-precinct life.
And someone who charges into trouble when he should stay with the damned vehicle.
"Castlllllllle!" Beckett screams in a bellowing mix of fear, fury, and potential loss, loudly enough to knock back the man with the radio. Esposito's at her side before she realizes that she fell to her knees. His help galvanizes her, allows her to turn her upward motion into forward motion as she focuses on the door behind which she'll find her partner.
"No, God dammit!" the dark-haired man yells again, catching Beckett's arm just before she moved out of reach. Esposito and Ryan close ranks to assist, before the man yells again. "You'd be dead before you reached the door! Now stay the hell out of the way!"
To her horror, Beckett sees that the man was right – the view through the door is terrifying, a cascading torrent of fire. Even as the remaining firefighters work the hoses the flames seem to dance and evade, burning brightly almost in mockery of the effort to extinguish them. Smoke pours from several windows, curling and licking up the side of the building before reaching to the sky.
Seconds, minutes, or lifetimes later – it's hard to tell – the tide seems to turn. The scrambling firefighters seem to be making inroads, constantly attacking the chaotic front of flames. But even as the fragile sense of optimism tries to take root, it's crushed by the sound of three more gunshots.
Beckett hasn't felt this hopeless, this bereft, since she was nineteen.
To their credit, the firefighters don't even pause in their efforts. The man who blocked Beckett continues to command the scene with his radio, his screams, and his scowling attitude. There is a primal pragmatism on display, the need to contain the flames that will otherwise kill their colleagues driving the team to contain the fire that will kill others if it spreads. Still, the flames seem to suddenly grow in intensity, almost as if in response to the hubris displayed by those trying to quell its elemental fury. It's clear now that the effort has shifted entirely to containing the spread of the fire – Meghan Malloy's section of the building, into which Castle had charged, is a lost cause.
Beckett stares into the flames until her eyes water. The tears that flow make it difficult to see, refracting the flares and bursts that she already knows will haunt her nightmares. But she lets them flow, lets them run down her cheeks unabated, her own meager contribution to the liquid fighting the flames.
She thinks her eyes are playing tricks on her at first, when the flames at the door seem to part and pool, suggesting the possibility of a shape moving behind them. But then the shape resolves, looking like some lurching nightmare in outline. A few more staggering steps brings the figure, and the explanation, to light. One of the firefighters survived the inferno. He's got something cradled to his chest and a figure draped over a shoulder beneath a blanket. The weight of these loads makes him slow, causes him to stumble so that Beckett fears he'll be overtaken by the flames. But with a few more struggling steps, he clears the townhouse and its portico, stumbling down the two steps to the walk.
Only then does the last burden become apparent. In addition to what he carried from the building, the firefighter is dragging his partner by the collar of his coat. His completely inert partner.
Even as Beckett stares transfixed, a group of firefighters from a nearby truck breaks off to help. They swarm the survivor, freeing him of his burdens as he collapses to the ground. Beckett sees the bundle from his chest resolve itself into a young boy, who's quickly led to an ambulance. The other figure turns out to be a woman, who must be his mother – perhaps that's Meghan Malloy. She, too, is also carried away, though her sluggish movements reveal her state of distress.
But Beckett's eyes are on the fallen firefighter who'd been dragged out of the building, who's being hoisted up and rushed to a nearby gurney. She's there before she remembers moving, using her lithe form to slip through the gaps in the wall of burly firefighters. He's on his side as she reaches the gurney, tilted away from her so that his colleagues can remove the respirator tank and lay him flat. His helmet's off, though his head is still obscured by a nomex hood. What she can see, though, is the bloodstain on the upper back of his bunker coat. She knows this can't be true, but the bloodstain seems to grow even as she watches.
Beckett's shoved aside as the EMTs move in, prompting her to jostle whoever's around her so she can fight for a place. She feels a hand on her shoulder trying to pull her back, but she fights it even as the body on the gurney is lowered and his face comes into view. With a burst of energy, Beckett plows forward, grabbing the gurney and startling the EMT next to her. Reaching out, she finds a hand and grips it tightly. After a moment of shock, she's wracked with guilt. Because whoever's on the gurney, it's not Castle.
Feeling another tug on her shoulder, Beckett turns to see that it's Esposito who's been trying to get her attention. When she looks at him, he uses his free hand to point. There, sitting on another gurney, is the firefighter who walked out of the building. There is no crowd around him, just one EMT who tends to him while he struggles to remove his equipment. Beckett feels offended and turns back to admonish the firefighters for not helping their other colleague, but they're gone. They're all back on the attack, trying to beat the fire into submission.
Turning back, she sees Ryan help remove the tank, helmet, and hood of the last firefighter. He looks exhausted, beaten, and frightened. But she's never been more thrilled to see him.
"Castle, thank God," she says as she tackles him, having knocked the EMT aside in her haste.
"Got you," Castle says as he heaves a breath, during which the EMT roughly clears his throat in an inelegant but effective request for Beckett to release her grip on his patient and get out of his way. "Gift," he says, sucking in another breath. After fumbling with still-gloved hands, he gives up.
"Ryan," Castle says through his labored breath and fatigue. "Pocket. Ev'dence."
Dipping into his own pocket for a plastic glove, Ryan dons it and reaches toward the bulky pocket on the side of Castle's right thigh. Gingerly, he reaches in and withdraws a .357 revolver.
"Castle," Esposito asks as Ryan drops the weapon into a plastic bag. "What happened to the shooter?"
"Dead," Castle answers quietly, still trying to suck in a breath even as the EMT starts to wind an oxygen cannula around his ear and under his nose. "Couldn't save them all."
"Yes, sir," Beckett says peremptorily, taking her final instructions from Montgomery. "I don't think there's going to be much of a scene left to process, but I'll talk to FDNY. Yes, someone besides Castle," she says, still a little too stressed to roll her eyes in reaction. Castle's still out of sight, inside an ambulance that looks like it's preparing to depart. She's anxious to check on him, see how he's feeling, but Montgomery won't shut up. Finally giving up, both on waiting for her boss to finish and on paying any particular attention to what he's saying, Beckett approaches the ambulance.
Shockingly, it appears that Castle's being a good patient. He's prone on the gurney and still wears the oxygen cannula, but whatever he's saying in a low voice has the EMT chuckling even as he turns to close the doors
"Wait!" Beckett says, shouting out to the EMT.
"What?" Montgomery asks, shortly before Beckett hangs up on him.
Stepping up on the back bumper of the ambulance, Beckett thinks better of sliding inside or reaching out to pat Castle, even though her hand is already reaching toward him. The space is already cramped, and it's not clear if Castle's hurt or if he'd welcome the outreach. So, instead, she raises her hand and offers the widest smile she can imagine, one that contains all her hopes and thoughts. "Be well, Castle," she says clearly, "and behave. I'll see you soon."
Her parting admonition prompts a grudging smile, and though Castle doesn't speak, he lifts in hand in farewell.
"Saint Mark's," the EMT offers their destination apologetically as he moves to close the doors, causing Beckett to finally step down.
The ambulance is still pulling away when she feels a hand on her shoulder. Expecting Esposito again, she's surprised to see Lanie instead.
"He should be fine," Lanie offers before pulling Beckett into a hug she didn't know she needed. "They're taking him in for observation. His friend should be okay, too – through and through to the left shoulder. They'll need to check, but they're hoping for no structural damage."
"Thanks, Lanie," Beckett says quietly, quickly swiping a hand across her cheek. "What're you doing here? Wait," she says before her friend can answer. "Do I even want to know what you promised Espo to thank him for this information?"
"As much as I'd love to tease you about this," Lanie replies with a smile, "he actually volunteered it freely – he called while Castle was still in the building," she says grimly as both women recognize how things might've gone differently. "I'm not sure what happened," Lanie continues in an intentionally cheery voice, "but Javi's all Mr. Boy Scout lately where Castle's concerned."
"Ryan, too," Beckett notes. "Maybe they miss him."
Beckett and Lanie ruminate on this as they watch the remaining firefighters finish the job of containing and extinguishing the blaze. Beckett had been so focused on Castle, then on informing Montgomery, that she'd lost track of that battle.
"So," Lanie asks, interrupting Beckett's thoughts. "What's your gameplan here?"
"Talk to him," Beckett replies with a shrug. "Make sure he's okay. Let him know that I'm happy to see him, despite the terrible circumstances. Oh, and I'll need to take his statement," she realizes, initially embarrassed but then happy that this wasn't her first thought.
"Okay," Lanie nods cautiously. "That's good. The last thing you guys need is another fight."
"Why would we fight?" Beckett asks in confusion. "He could've died! The last thing I'm going to do tomorrow is argue with him!" she says with a self-conscious laugh.
"But then how will he recognize you?" Lanie asks with a raised brow. At Beckett's incensed look, she laughs and backs off. "I'm just glad to hear that you're not going to have a go at him about leaving the precinct. Just focus on looking ahead."
"He didn't have a choice," Beckett admits. "He told me that back then, and he was right." When her confession is met with silence, rather than a jibe about admitting a mistake, Beckett casts a quick look at her friend. Lanie's troubled countenance clearly indicates that something else is going on. "Lanie? What am I missing?"
"We should talk about this later," Lanie demurs. "After you've met with Castle."
"Or we could talk about it now, while his co-workers finish their business," Beckett proposes with an edge to her voice. "Lanie, what's going on?"
With a sigh, Lanie capitulates, taking some time to consider her answer. "You know Castle's an employee, right, not a shadow?" Lanie asks. Beckett looks blank, not having considered that there was a meaningful difference with more serious concerns on her mind since arriving. "You don't just walk into a fire station and apply. There are tests – serious tests that aren't simple to pass, that have to be taken in advance. Tests that Castle would've had to pass to be hired, even though he was too old."
"What do you mean, too old?" Beckett asks, seizing on the less troubling piece of Lanie's explanation. "There are other firefighters his age."
"There isn't an age requirement to join the FDNY," Lanie explains, "but there's an age limit on the exam that's required of applicants. Castle was too old to take it even before he started shadowing you at the precinct, but someone must've pulled some strings. The only other firefighters Castle's age started there before they hit the age cut-off."
"So, what are you saying?" Beckett asks, mind now tracing down dark paths.
"Castle must've passed the tests – that's probably one of the reasons that joining the Department was okay with the mayor when staying at the precinct wasn't. But, he couldn't have set this up quickly," Lanie says quietly while gesturing to the fire trucks, bustling firefighters, and their related equipment. "This is something that would've taken weeks, maybe even months, to arrange."
A/N: So there's the short chapter! Good thing nothing of consequence happened, right? But in return for the short chapter, you get a longer note.
I was originally going to call this story "Up in Flames," but thought that would've given it away. Castle and others will explain Sal and different aspects of Castle's position in the next chapter, which will help make the connection to earlier comments and clues more clear. But there are two things to discuss before then. First, back at the start of the story, I mentioned there was at least one aspect of his job that I'd have to fudge – that's the age issue raised by Lanie. As near as I can tell, the qualifying exam for the FDNY has an age cap of 29 (though I haven't been able to determine if this was different five years ago). So, clearly, Castle would've been too old to take the exam without some kind of exception.
The other issue that still surprises me is the depth of the rivalry/animosity between the police and fire departments in NYC. I thought someone would guess Castle's new job back in late May when there was a big story about a bench-clearing brawl at an NYPD v. FDNY charity football game (appropriately named the "Fun City Bowl"). If you wonder whether I overplayed the discomfort with the police angle, do a quick web search of "nypd fdny rivalry." Fighting Palsy probably did more for Castle's place with his new coworkers than every other effort combined.
Thanks for the suggestions (and waves from across the Bay) for my jaunt to San Francisco. The trip was wildly successful and a very good time. What a great city.
Next chapter on Monday morning at the latest.
