The Long Game: Chapter 12
DISCLAIMER: None of these characters are mine, but they are memorable. Thank you Mr. Marlowe.
The Federal Courthouse in New York City, 10:15 a.m., Monday, March 19, 2012
Richard Castle sits in the small courtroom – which is currently closed to the public – with Harvey Bennington, his long-time attorney, District Attorney Stanley Bridges, and Judge Barbara Smalling. Over the weekend, Judge Smalling had issued the order for the closed arraignment proceedings, as she was having no part of the inside-the-walls media circus that was brewing over the famous novelist.
The media was already having a field day, having gone into full frenzy mode with the gruesome details regarding Scott Dunn's corpse. The stories ranged from a decapitated head being the only body part yet recovered, to speculation about missing limbs. Ironically, no story – at least to date – has accurately portrayed the fingerless body that had washed ashore.
For her part, Judge Smalling had stared outside her chamber window at the throng of media vans and equipment being mounted on the court steps with increasing disgust.
"Not even one of these knuckleheads has gotten it right yet," she had thought to herself.
Now, sitting in the closed courtroom with the antagonist of these proceedings, she finds herself wondering not so much about his innocence or guilt, but rather his intentions. She knows the story about Scott Dunn and what he had done to this man's daughter, and mother, and friends. She knows how she would . . . could react if something like this would happen to any of her daughters – of which she has two, Sarah and Sydney.
No, what has struck her about Richard Castle was the conversation between the writer and his attorney that has just taken place. Castle had originally talked about pleading no contest. Harvey, of course, had tried to talk him out of this.
"You realize that a no contest essentially allows me to treat you, to pass judgement and sentencing as if you had entered a guilty plea, Mr. Castle," she had told him then, and both Harvey and Stanley had immediately concurred.
"No contest simply protects you from a civil suit later on, Rick," Harvey had told him. "You know this! You're innocent. Why are you screwing around with a no contest plea?" he had asked incredulously.
"Is this one of your publicity stunts to drive up book sales, Mr. Castle?" she had asked him. "Enter in a no contest plea, spend some time in jail before you appeal while watching your sales skyrocket?"
It's all she could think of as a rationale for the man's behavior. He's not guilty. Scratch that. He is guilty of something, of that she is confident. But not murder. She's looked in his eyes. She's watched his body language. She's spent twenty years on the bench and has a good feel for this. The man isn't guilty of murder, but for some reason, it appears he seems to want people to believe he is. And if it is not for book sales, then why? He's got a teenage daughter ready to graduate high school who, according to hastily-gathered evidence, is seeing a shrink as a result of her traumatic experience. He's got a mother who is barely in better shape. There is no father in the picture. And he's ready to leave them and spend time in prison? The thing his daughter needs right now more than anything is her father. Why is he willing to leave her, to essentially toss her aside?
No, this smells to high heaven, and she idly wonders who he is protecting? Or, who is he hiding from?
"Things are not always as they appear to be, your honor," he tells her. "I can't say more."
"Can't ? Or won't, Mr. Castle," she asks him.
"Tomato, To-mah-to," he smiles.
Immediately he recognizes that this wasn't the best time for his playful sarcasm to return. Judge Smalling gives him a glare over her eyeglasses that causes him to sheepishly retreat, momentarily.
Regardless, it seems that his attorney and the DA have finally talked a bit of sense into the writer, who just moments ago, has agreed to enter a 'not guilty' plea. Now it's all about the bail. He wants his moment – fine, she will give it to him.
"Mr. Castle," she begins, "Given the severity of the crime, and the gruesome nature of violence that has taken place, and finally given your initial reluctance to enter a non-guilty plea, I have to consider the very real possibility that you are, indeed, guilty. As such, I must consider you a flight risk. Therefore, I am withholding bail."
While Harvey Bennington issues the expected protest and rebuttal, Castle simply nods his head. He's been expecting this, as Jackson Hunt (in his role as federal guard) had reminded him. His reaction further surprises and concerns Judge Smalling, as do his words to his attorney.
"It's okay, Harvey," Castle tells his old friend. "I expected this."
"Richard, this is insane," his attorney tells him, now frustrated to no end. "You are playing a dangerous game, here."
"I know, Harvey," Castle says, before quickly glancing at the judge, but it is too late. His little slip up confirms for Barbara Smalling that something is going on beneath the surface here, and she instinctively knows that this has the possibility of truly ending badly.
"You may think this is a game, Mr. Castle," she instructs him as he stands to leave, "but I assure you it is not."
Castle merely nods as he holds his hands out to the two federal guards who have accompanied him to the proceedings.
"Time to go, boys," he says softly. The arraignment has gone exactly as he and Jackson Hunt had anticipated. Now comes the hard part. Now comes the endless waiting, the hours leading to days, leading to weeks and beyond in a jail cell. Or worse.
"I can do this," he tells himself, but truthfully, he is starting to wonder. He's a writer, for crying out loud, not some superspy with years of undercover training. He's never gone through POW training. He's not ex-special forces like Esposito. He's definitely out of his league. Yet his father has told him that he won't be spending as much time in jail as he anticipates. So far he's been right about everything, so Castle can do nothing but trust the man yet again.
"Let's go, Mr. Castle," one of the guards tells him as Castle and Harvey Bennington leave the judge's chambers for the short journey back to the federal building where his holding tank waits for him.
Richard Castle's Beach Home in the Hamptons, 10:42 a.m., Monday, March 19, 2012
Jackson Hunt stands in the kitchen drinking a glass of orange juice. He arrived roughly an hour ago, in one of his standard disguises that he keeps on tap. Some days he is an electrician, other days a home theatre installation specialist. Today he is a plumber, and his van is a brightly designed vehicle with a personalized logo. He has real businesses that he has established for situations like this – where he needs to be both visible and covert at the same time. If anyone recalls seeing his van and does a check, they will find a real business, with a real website, and a real phone number. Anyone calling the number on the van will get an answering service, which forwards their business request to a local business operative.
Martha and Alexis sit in the living room, their attention focused on the television, where the CNN coverage of "The Arraignment of Richard Castle" is playing like a soap opera. True to Judge Smalling's concern, the media feast has begun. Hunt walks back into the living room now, sipping on his orange juice. He has told them what is next – he needed to be there in person for this, to assure them that everything will be all right.
The CNN feed from the courthouse continues, as they wait for Castle and his attorney to leave the courthouse. The media hoards don't expect more than a few words from Harvey Bennington, but everyone is looking for video shots and photographs of the disgraced author. Once the arraignment ends, the sound bites will begin ad nauseam.
Suddenly the lights are on, and there is shouting along with a bustle of movement on the screen. Sure enough, Richard castle is exiting the courthouse, walking in cuffs. Within seconds he will be at the paddy wagon, headed back to his holding cell. Martha breaks into tears at the sight of her son in handcuffs. Alexis, however, doesn't say a word. She simply stares at the man who she knows is making this sacrifice for her. Jackson Hunt glances down at the young girl's tensed hands, watching her nails bite into her palms. He places a calloused hand atop hers. She glances down, then offers quick glance at her grandfather before returning her gaze to the television screen.
The 12th Precinct, New York City, 10:42 a.m., Monday, March 19, 2012
It's standing room only for the detectives and on-duty officers of the 12th Precinct here in the break room. They are all huddled around the large 46-inch flat screen that – ironically – had been donated last year by the man they now watch exit the courtroom.
While no one dares risk a glance at Detective Kate Beckett, she still feels their eyes boring into her, all wondering what she must be thinking. Her thoughts, however, are her own right now, as she hasn't spoken a word since they have all wandered into the room. She stares down at the cup of coffee in her hand, it too a product of the large industrial strength coffee maker donated by – yeah, him.
Even Esposito and Ryan are giving her a wide arc this morning, as is Captain Victoria Gates. Instinctively they all recognize this as one of those truly rare life moments where the best words are those not spoken.
"There's our boy," Esposito says softly, as they watch the novelist exit the large door and begin the walk along the stone and marble to the steps leading down to the street.
The Federal Courthouse in New York City, 10:44 a.m., Monday, March 19, 2012
Richard Castle walks slowly, his legs in shackles and his arms in handcuffs. He wonders, idly, why the heavy armory restricting him. Yes, he is a suspected murderer, but . . . what . . . do they think he's an Olympic sprinter, or a closet martial artist? What do they think he is going to do?
He hears Harvey speaking in his ear as they approach the media frenzy waiting at the steps, but he is not listening. His mind is galaxies away, waiting for the next shoe to fall. He wonders – again – if he can go through with this, but realizes that the time to bail out of this plan passed long ago. He's in this for the long game, now.
Harvey is speaking to the media, as the two guards slowly walk Castle past the throng of reporters. Video cameras are capturing his every step, and flashbulbs pop capturing each facial expression. Steeling himself, he takes the first step off the marble surface onto the steps leading to the street when the first shot rings out. It catches Richard Castle just below the clavicle as he steps down to the first step. Had the shot come a second earlier, it would have gone through his heart. As it is, it is a clean through and through just inches above his heart as he falls backward toward the stone surface below.
For Elena Markov, it was a fantastic shot from roughly 750 feet, high above from the garage across the street. A second shot rings out, some twenty feet from the now profusely bleeding and prostrate novelist who is laid out on the steps. Pure pandemonium has set in, with media personnel both diving for cover while instructing colleagues to continuing filming, continue taking pictures.
Richard Castle's Beach Home in the Hamptons, 10:45 a.m., Monday, March 19, 2012
"He's fine, Martha, he is fine," Jackson Hunt says, his voice rising to overcome the screams of the red-headed woman, her face in her hands as she sits on the sofa in front of the television. Alexis is eerily quiet, wiping the rush of tears from her eyes, but never tearing her eyes away from the screen that – right now – is focused on the body of her father laid out on the steps of the courthouse.
"Martha, I told you, Elena is one of the best shooters in the world," Hunt tells Martha – and by extension – the younger version of the woman he has once loved. "Richard will be fine, I promise you."
He glances again at his granddaughter, still focused on the television.
"So much blood," Alexis says softly. "So much blood."
The 12th Precinct, New York City, 10:45 a.m., Monday, March 19, 2012
It's one of those moments that – later – will become one of those 'where were you when it happened' events. But right now, the 12th Precinct has descended into hell, as chaos has erupted. The scream that gurgled out of Kate Beckett's mouth is one that Javier Esposito will never forget, as his friend and mentor has dropped to her knees in the break room. Kevin Ryan has fallen back into the wall, while a couple of officers have broken into tears.
No, Richard Castle is not a cop, but for many in this room, he is one of them.
No, they haven't really treated him like one of them all of the time, but today at this moment, he is a fallen comrade.
Captain Victoria Gates was the first to rush out of the room, sprinting to her office and jumping on the telephone. Other than that, no one has left the break room, and Javier Esposito now finds himself on his knees, trying to pick up his friend, trying to get Kate Beckett to her feet. He knows the horror that is flashing behind those eyes that alternate between he and the television monitor. Those eyes stare blankly at him – and in those eyes he sees her mother, he sees Roy Montgomery. He glances back at the television monitor, and can't help but notice the large and growing blotch of blood sprayed across the chest of Richard Castle.
Back in the city near the Courthouse, 10:55 a.m., Monday, March 19, 2012
Elena Markov is down the steps within two minutes to the service elevator, which opens up in the garage on the first floor. She hops in the small rented car, wearing her blond wig and green eye lenses. She will make sure that she glances toward the camera she knows is at the exit – unintentionally of course. She pays for her parking ticket at the automated machine and smiles, as the gate arm lifts, granting her access to leave.
Ten blocks away, she enters a second garage and discards the car, now taking off her wig and ditching the lenses once inside the building. She waits five more minutes, and then departs out the front door, placing her call to Jackson Hunt.
"I see you were successful," Hunt greets her, nodding his head to Alexis as he stands up from the sofa and walks toward the kitchen.
"He will be in pain for a few weeks, but he will heal," Elena tells him.
"The pain will do him good," Hunt says aloud, more to himself than to his partner. "It will help crystalize his thinking."
"An interesting viewpoint," she muses, "considering he is your son."
"It is because he is my son that I wish him to grow, and grow quickly," he tells her. "He will come to realize this phase was necessary."
"Is this not unreasonable?" she asks.
"These are unreasonable times," is all he says. It is this cold detachment that Elena Markov both loves and respects about the man.
"And now suspicion will slowly begin to depart from your son," she adds, glancing at the young couple that passes by her as she walks along the street. "Deflecting attention is always an effective ruse," she smiles.
"According to the news reports right now, they have taken him to New York Presbyterian in Lower Manhattan," Hunt tells her. "He is going into surgery there."
"Good. I will make the second attempt there this evening once he is in recovery. An unsuccessful attempt, of course."
"I know how difficult it is for you to miss, Elena," he says with a smile of pride. Yeah, he trusts this woman with his life – and now the life of his son.
"It is, I admit, a new challenge," she smiles in return. "I had to time it with his first step off the main level outside. I needed it to look like I was going for a clean shot through the heart."
"Why the second shot?" he asks. That was the only surprise of the morning so far.
"Oh, that was just a random shot about twenty feet or so away from Richard. They will now wonder whether or not there was a second shooter."
Jackson Hunt smiles, as the news reporter on site has already speculated that there was a second shooter, since the second shot landed nowhere near the writer or his attorney. Elena always has had a knack for improvising. And she is usually correct in her field decisions.
Two attempts on the life of his son in one day will sway public opinion, forcing the Feds to wonder just who is trying to silence Richard Castle. Phase one was to place suspicion firmly at his son's doorstep. Phase two is to deflect that suspicion away. As he told his son, there is more than one door to get to freedom. Door Two, of course, isn't one that the normal person would willingly choose, but Jackson Hunt knows that his son is anything but normal.
Still, the plan is working, as he knows this latest development will force the authorities to ask the questions he wants asked:
If Richard Castle didn't kill Scott Dunn, did he see who actually did? Is that why he is being targeted?
If Richard Castle being silenced so that what he knows doesn't come to light? Is he being framed and now the frame is going south? Are loose ends being cut off, and is Richard Castle simply one of those loose ends?
Best of all, it will also totally confuse one U.S. Senator, who right about now has to be wondering just what in the world is going on.