Wednesday 4:24 am

Gotham City Security Service

Demming was sitting on a bench in the garage away from the crime scene when he heard Castle's voice thank a patrolman, and looked up to see the writer approaching with three coffees and a white lunch bag. He slid over to make room, and said "Take a load off, Castle."

Castle sat next to the Robbery detective and pulled a large coffee out of the cardboard carrier. "Three creams, no sugar."

"Thanks. Good guess."

Castle looked over at Beckett, talking to the Medical Examiner near the gurney holding the mechanic's corpse. "To paraphrase Permlutter, I don't guess, I'm a novelist." He reached in the bag and asked, "Cin-a-bon?"

"Absolutely." Demming took the offered sticky bun and started eating. Castle, for some unknown reason, took a coffee and the small bag and slid them behind him on the bench. He started drinking the third cup.

Demming nodded towards Beckett. "You two make a good team."

Castle smiled softly. "Beckett is, without a doubt, the strongest person I have ever met. The rest of us are just following her around, doing our best, trying not to disappoint her."

"It's more than that. I was at Roy Montgomery's funeral. You almost took a bullet for her."

Castle looked at the detective. "Yea, well, Beckett has me working out regularly now. I'll be faster next time."

Demming instantly knew that Castle wasn't exaggerating, or being satiric. It wasn't bravura. He was still, three years after the fact, regretting not getting between Beckett and the sniper. Obviously, he would do it again in a heartbeat. "Rumor has it, you two were the ones that disarmed that dirty bomb a couple of years ago."

"Detective Demming, I signed a paper stating in no uncertain terms that there was not, nor has there ever been, a dirty bomb in Manhattan. I have no idea what you are talking about." They both grinned at each other.

Beckett nodded at the M.E., scanned the activity around her, and turned and started for their bench. Her vision focused on the coffees in their hands. She eyed her soon-to-be husband. "CASTLE?"

"What?" Mr Innocence.

"GIMME!"

Castle grinned, put his coffee down, and reached behind his back. He handed Kate her coffee and the bag, then slid over to give her room to sit between them.

Beckett plopped down on the bench with a sigh. She opened the bag and peered inside. "Yum! Do you guys want any?" She pulled out a bear claw.

Demming started licking his fingers. "Just finished mine." He turned and saw Beckett looking at him. "What?"

"Eew." She took a bite of the bear claw, and then pointedly took a paper napkin out of the bag and wiped her fingers. "Okay, what have you guys found out? Rick, you go first. We'll save Detective Sticky Fingers until he's done washing himself."

Castle took out a small spiral notebook, flipped it open, and pretty much ignored it after that. "First things first. Our initial victim was Archie Crane. Nicknamed "Itchy". Thirty-two. He'd been employed here for under three weeks. The drivers and guards here typically go through a probationary period, where they work on an 'as needed' basis learning the ropes. They are assigned to more experienced teammates, where they are graded on a daily basis. Every one of his coworkers thought he was bright, alert, and motivated. Passed his background check with flying colors. Has an impeccable record in the military as an MP for 12 years, mostly in Korea. Honorable Discharge as a Staff Sergeant two months ago." Castle looked at Beckett, pain in his eyes. "Brought home a Korean wife. Has one small child, and another on the way. Lives in Queens. Our next stop."

Beckett nodded, looked at her wrinkled Yankees jersey. "After the Loft."

Castle continued. "Victim number two. Gus Palappadous. Twenty-nine years young. Employed here five years as an armored car mechanic. Comes and goes at all hours, very dedicated employee. Prior to this he worked on armored vehicles in the Army, mostly Fort Hood. For obvious reasons, they like to hire veterans here. No problems whatsoever. Last background check was Christmas before last, and it was squeaky clean. Lives alone, emergency contact is an Aunt and Uncle in Albany. Reading between the lines, I believe Gus enjoyed an alternative lifestyle, but that didn't appear to be an issue here or elsewhere. That was his pickup truck we found him in.

"Here's where it gets weird. The other two individuals assigned to armored car 468 yesterday were also probationary employees. That's never supposed to happen. The drivers name is Mark Ennis, 47, retired Chief Petty Officer. Lives in a single-occupancy on the wrong side of the Holland Tunnel. Permanent address is Norfolk, Virginia. Divorced. No children. The other guard was also named Mark, Marcus King. Twenty-one years old. Lives with his parents in Harlem. Graduated in December from Hudson with a degree in Criminal Justice. Looks like he was waiting for a spot to open in the police academy. Ennis had been here five weeks, King just two. No red flags, or even yellow ones. I called Ennis' ex-wife and King's parents, pretending to be a drunken friend. They weren't happy to be wakened at three am. Nobody has heard from them in two days, which isn't unusual for either one. I sent copies of all personnel files to Ryan's email, and copied you. Questions?"

Beckett shook her head. "No. Two steps forward and two steps back." She looked at her folder, now open on her lap. "Permlutter identified a trace substance on Crane's body as heroin, probably Mexican Brown. Most likely transferred when they were removing his clothes. His initial tox screen was negative, and there are no apparent needle marks or other signs of use. So, probably from the killer. He said that Crane was in excellent shape, besides having a third of his bones broken and all his major organs burst." She shook her head again. "The good doctor concerns me, sometimes."

She took a sip of coffee. "The only obvious cause of death for our mechanic friend, Palappadous, was a broken neck. The ME believes it was snapped manually, from behind, by a trained man. T.O.D. between 8 and 10 last night. Outside of that, he won't commit to anything without a further examination." Beckett reached down and picked up a couple of clear evidence bags. "Poor Gus had his wallet and keys on him, a pack of gum, and two lottery tickets. However, trapped under him we found this." She held up a bag.

Demming asked, "Is that a rosary?"

"No" said Castle, taking it gently from Beckett's hand. "It's an Islamic tasbih. Known as a subhah in parts of Persia and India. Muslim worry beads. Will be used twice daily by the devout to recite the 99 names of Allah, or the Takbir itself: 'God is Great'. Palappadous is a very Greek name. This was under him?" He handed the bag back to Beckett.

Beckett nodded. "Yep. It could have been in there the whole time, or been dropped in a struggle. Also in there was a large chunk of Armored Car. Oddly enough, it was exactly the part of Gotham car 468 that contained the black box. Esposito's new CSU friend from Army CID said it was a very professional job, using shaped charges to remove the box without destroying it." She looked sad. "At least he was talking to me. Apparently, I am the wicked witch of the week for CSU. They're still working the first site, and this one, and haven't found anything else helpful."

Both turned towards Demming and said, in unison, "Your turn."

Demming smiled at their mirrored behavior. "Okay. First the good news. I still have a job. That's it for the good news." Demming took a healthy swig of coffee. "Now the not-so-good news. I hope you're comfortable, 'cause it's a lot. The first thing we did, when old Bo was feeling better, was track the movement of car 468 today. It was SUPPOSED to be here in the maintenance garage all day for routine work. What it did was drive down to Atlantic City, stopping by three different casinos for twenty or so minutes each. It then drove back here to the city, detouring once to stop at the race track. Once back in the city, its last stop was the FED, as in the freaking Federal Reserve Bank. It then stopped by your alley, then drove back here to slot C19."

Castle looked like a kid on Christmas morning. "How much were they carrying?"

Demming shook his head. "Unknown. Neither the security company nor the police are told the transaction amounts unless it exceeds the insurance maximum, which is $50 million per pickup. The only way we can tell is to look at the clients' paperwork, but upon pain of death I'm not allowed to talk to the casinos, race track, or fed. Or anyone else. For the rest of my life. I didn't ask if I was allowed to talk to you, because I was afraid of the answer.

Demming looked puzzled. "The paperwork here says 468 should be parked in the garage. The software from Robbery says 468 ran its correct route yesterday. The IAD employee scheduler says that Crane, Ennis, and King had the day off yesterday. Accounting here says that those three were called in as sick day replacements, but nobody is sick. The maintenance schedule shows that Palappadous downchecked vehicle 468 for brake work, which often involves having to go out and test drive it. The company scheduler shows 468 was good to go.

"I woke my Captain, Mike Melrose, who's normally a nice guy, and pretty mellow. I am amazed he didn't stroke out. He still might - the night is young. He woke up the commissioner, the chief, the head of IAD, and the head of Admin. Admin woke up her top IT people. The IT people are both swearing the system can't be hacked and are trying to plug the holes, whatever that means. I'm in here hiding from the president and CEO of Gotham Security, both of whom appear to be blaming us for everything.

Demming looked at Beckett and Castle. "Now, are you ready for the bad news?"

Beckett couldn't help it. She burst out laughing. Demming waited until her laughter subsided….mostly. "Feel better? Good. Due to the interstate nature of the crime, we can expect to tie this in a bow and hand it to the Feds in about 3 hours. Which means my department, plus Admin, plus IAD, plus whoever else they can think of, will undergo a very thorough Federal audit, the equivalent of a departmental colonoscopy. It'll be ugly. I want to go back to Hawaii."

Beckett smiled. A mean smile, but a smile none-the-less. "Detective Demming, you are currently seconded to NYPD Homicide Team Alpha for the duration of this case. I have two homicides that happened within my jurisdiction. Until they are solved, you belong to me."

Demming snorted. "C'mon Kate, face facts. We have an interstate robbery, using weapons stolen in another federal case, and circumstantial evidence linking the murders to either Mexican cartels or Arab terrorists, or both. You can pick any 3 letters from the alphabet, and that agency will be claiming case ascendancy."

"No, Tom." Beckett stood up and stretched her back. Her voice was barely over a whisper, so Demming had to strain to hear. "What I have is a young widow and mother-to-be that has to be told that her husband won't be coming home again. Ever. One child who won't see her father again, and another who will never, ever get that chance. So here's what you're going to do. We'll drop you off at your apartment. You'll grab a couple of hours sleep, and we'll meet back at the 12th at eight. Sharp. Let's go." They headed for the car.