Just as a heads up, I have uni exams/essays/deadlines in for this month so revision is my current priority. I'm still aiming to update at least two chapters in the next month, but I can't promise, and I hope you understand if chapters are not as lengthy as previous. You are all so wonderful and amazing and thank you for the love
He gives himself a five block radius of the bar Maddie told him they were in. If his predictions are correct, and they usually are, a guy who reacts badly to being turned down is one likely to haunt numerous bars. And he'd keep it close by. Just in case he got lucky. Unfortunately for Castle, in this particular area of Manhattan there are about twenty different bars, and he's struck out in the first five. The sixth, the one he just left, said that he seemed vaguely familiar, but not enough for him to be considered a regular. Castle left his number if he ever turned up again.
The bartender at the eighth shakes her head too. It is possible that he he did just stick to that one bar, but that place is only twelfth on his list and he's not giving up yet.
"Oh, yeah, I recognise him. He was in... oh, a couple of nights ago now."
"Did he leave with anyone?"
"I didn't see him leave. Hollie might have though, hold on," He whistles, gaining the attention of a young blonde on the opposite sound of the room wiping tables, "Hol, come here and see if you can help this guy. You were working two nights ago, right?"
"Sure was. Busy night, I was run off my feet. What can I help with?"
Castle slides the photo towards her. "You know this guy?"
"Sure! That's Mike. Usually comes in every few nights. Good tipper. Why, is he in trouble?"
"Just want to ask him a few questions."
"About?"
"A murder. Our victim, Katherine Beckett, turned him down a few weeks ago. Could be that he took it the wrong way."
Hollie shakes her head. "Nah, that don't sound like Mike. Sure he can be a bit of a sleaze and has a terrible case of wandering hands but he's not a killer."
"You sure?"
"I know my customers. And I know Mike. This isn't him. But, I can give you a ring when he turns up and you can ask him yourself."
"Don't suppose you know where else he hangs around?"
"You seen the number of bars there are around here?"
"I have, that is my problem. Does he have a tab? Something with an address?"
"No, no, I don't think he has a tab. He just pays on the spot. He does drink a lot though, and it's fairly high end. I would say he's rich. I don't think he has an issue with money."
"Alright," he sighs, slides another card across the bar to Hollie, "that's my number. If you see him, give me a ring."
"Yes, sir. And I hope you catch whoever it was that killed that woman. And I hope it wasn't Mike. As much as he can piss women, and men, off, this isn't him. At least, I hope it isn't. Though I suppose you're hoping to get a case closed as quickly as possible."
"I want to find closure for their family as quickly as possible. If it's Mike, then great, if it's not him, then I'll get whoever it is eventually. Thank you for your help."
The next bar is much the same as the previous, Mike wouldn't do that, he's an ass but he's not a murderer, no I don't know where he lives, yes I'll phone you if he turns up. Three of the bars are closed, and then the next one is closed. Finally, he reaches the bar he knows the two women went out to.
"Yeah, I recognise her. Hard not to notice a woman like that, right? She was with another woman, a blonde. They ate, they drank, caused no trouble, and then left. Something wrong?"
"She was killed. Murdered, actually. We're trying to find motive."
"Well she caused no trouble here. They were both perfectly pleasant."
"Her friend said there might have been an incident with this guy? You know him?"
"Everyone here knows Mike. He's around most nights. You think it was him?"
"Don't know yet. Exploring angles. We know he came on to our victim and she turned him down. You see anything?"
"I see a lot of that kind of thing. And with Mike, he tries it with every woman he lays his eyes on, single or not. Most of the time he took it on the chin, just moved on to the next girl and in ten minutes he'd forgotten the previous. Made a girl feel like crap, but he wouldn't murder them. Anyway, I don't know what it was about this woman but he just wouldn't leave her alone. Buying her drinks, I don't think she even drank them, talking to her, even though she would give him the barest minimum of answers. In the end I intervened, said he had to leave. He grumbled about it a lot, but he did. Came in again the next day, and he'd turned it down a lot. I think he actually managed to pull. I think he took it as a learning curve."
"You know where he'll be?"
"This time, um, probably the fryery around the corner. Guy has some kind of English heritage, he's obsessed with fish and chips. Never saw the appeal really, but he seems to love it. Keeps asking me to put it on the menu, though it'll never happen."
"Alright, excellent. Thank you. If he's not at this fryery, do you think he'll be around tonight?"
"Usually is. Turns up around eight. I think this place is the closest to his apartment, but I know he often haunts other places."
"Yeah, I've been doing the rounds. No one seems to know much about him."
"Well hopefully I'll find out eventually. Thanks again. May see you again tonight."
The fryery is not hard to find. He just follows the smell of fish up the road to a fairly large, upscale place that's crowded with the lunchtime rush. They complain when he pushes his way towards the front of the queue, grumbles and curses greeting him from over his shoulder, but he can't be bothered flashing his badge until he reaches the counter where he slides it, along with the sketch of Mike, towards the cashier.
"What's this?"
"Looking for Mike. Have a few questions for him."
"About what?"
"A murder. I think he was one of the last people to see our victim alive. Want to see if he knows anything, or saw anyone that might have done it." The man behind the counter narrows his eyes at him. Upscale this place may be, but this guy has a certain distrust for cops. "I don't want to arrest him, just talk. I won't make a scene."
The queue behind him grows steadily more agitated, and he thinks that it must be the potential loss of customers that has the owner backing down. He jerks his head towards the back, where he assumes the seating area is situated. "He's back there. Back booth, by the window."
"Thank you very much." He gets a grunt in response, and is then pushed aside as the person behind him surges forward in their request for food. "Have a nice day."
"Mike?"
"Yeah?"
"My names Rick Castle, NYPD. Can I ask you a few questions?"
"Uh, yeah. Sure. Take a seat. You don't mind if I carry on eating, right? "
"No, no, you carry on. You were at The Press Lounge a few weeks ago?"
"I'm there most nights."
"The night you got kicked out."
"Oh, she's not pressing charges is she? I didn't mean to come across the way that I did, I just had a bit too much to drink and I didn't mean to upset her, I really didn't-"
"She's dead."
"W-what?! What do you mean?"
"Dead. Heart stopped. Bullet through the brain tends to do that you know."
"Why are you asking me? Do you think I did it? Man, I didn't do it okay, I mean I was pissed sure, but I didn't – I would never – dude, I'm scared of spiders, and snakes, I can barely get them out of the bath tub without crying."
"People are capable of surprising things when they're angry. You sure you weren't that angry at being kicked out?"
"I went home and I slept. And when I woke up I had a killer hangover. Look, I didn't even know the woman's name. How was I supposed to find her to put a bullet in her head? When was she killed?"
"Early yesterday morning."
"I wasn't in the city. I was on a train back from Atlantic City. It was a friend's bachelor party, you can ask all of them. And I have the tickets. Look, right here in my wallet."
He slides train tickets across to him, receipts dated from the day before from bars in Atlantic City, a polaroid photo off a very drunk looking group of guys swamping two women with sparkly pink leotards, sky high heels, and giant feathers sticking out of their ass. "It all seems very convenient."
"I wasn't in New York! Look!"
"Doesn't mean you didn't hire someone to do it. You go to high end bars, pricey drinks, sure a man like you can afford someone."
"I don't – I'm not – that's – I wouldn't, okay! You can look at my finances, I don't even know how to contact people who do that kind of thing." Castle believes him. He does. The guy wasn't in New York city when the murder took place, and he's ninety nine point nine percent sure that should he take a look through his financials all he would find would be charges for alcohol and hotel rooms. But, the guy is a bit of a jackass and it's fun watching him squirm. "Please, I had nothing to do with this."
"What's your last name?"
"Towcester. Are you going to arrest me?"
"Not today, Mike. But if I found you've harassed any more women, or if your finances don't check out, I'll know where to find you. Okay?"
"You find him?"
"Yeah, guy called Mike Towcester. He'd just had too much to drink, got a bit intense, bartender kicked him out and he woke up with a killer hangover the next morning. Wasn't in New York for the murder, he was in Atlantic City on a bachelor party. Had receipts and train tickets."
"On hand?"
"Wallet. I'm going to check his financials just in case, but my gut is telling me it wasn't him. Which takes us back to square one."
"Have her case records turned up yet?"
"Not yet." Castle replies, sinking in to his desk chair and pulling his keyboard towards him. "Her parents said she had a lot, so it might take them a while. They said they'll bring them personally, say that we'll probably need help with deciphering her notes or something."
"Deciphering?"
"Mm, apparently her and her mother share some code. Just in case they get hit with a subpoena. Sneaky tactic, but not illegal."
Ryan collapses into his own chair, scrapes a hand through his hair. "This case is horrible. I hate it."
"The answers may lie in her case files. You never know."
"Right, the case files that we can't decipher." He huffs, stabbing a finger at his keyboard until his screen comes to life.
"Come on, it's been all of a day. As awesome as we are, we can't expect to solve a murder within forty eight hours. We just got to keep going. What we need is coffee."
She doesn't want to wake up. She had enough trouble getting to sleep as it was, the sky morphing from dark blue to indigo to the pale blue of dawn before she had finally succumbed to dreams. There were images of her parents grieving, her friends mourning, planning funerals that kept flashing through her mind, taunting her. She thought she could hear someone outside of her bedroom door, not sure if it was Kelly or a guard, or Jerry. Or maybe she was just imagining it. Maybe that's what they wanted. To keep her freaked out, on edge, questioning everything around her. But, eventually, exhaustions had overcome and she had slept for a few hours before the door had slammed open.
"What the-"
"Sorry to disturb you, Kate. I wanted to leave you to sleep, you obviously didn't have a good night, but unfortunately Jerry insisted on moving the schedule forward."
"The – the schedule?"
"Yes, dear. We had everything planned, right down to the minute, but Jerry is very insistent that we start now." Kelly crosses to the windows, and pulls the curtains back across the window. The weather looks grey and dismal and horrible. It doesn't look much better inside either. "So, I'll leave you to get dressed, and then we can begin."
"Can I have something to eat, or drink?"
"Oh, no, sorry. Can't eat before a surgery. It's bad for you, doesn't work with the anaesthetic, and I need to keep you safe and well for the rest of the week. You can eat afterwards. I'll make sure something nice is cooked for you."
"Surgery?! What kind of surgery?"
"Nothing too disastrous. I'm not harvesting organs, if that's what you're worried about. I'll be back in about half an hour, I need to get the operating room set up."
She leaves with a simpering smile that Kate thinks is supposed to make her feel better, but falls drastically flat.
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