Disclaimer: Don't own'em
A/N: To all those of you who reviewed: thank you! The plot thickens in this here bit, and then we can dive into the parts that were more challenging to write. I look forward to hearing what you have to say.
This next chapter is for Xleste. You're a gem :)
The Art of Living 2/8
Kate watched David Carter from her seat across his desk. He was clearly a small-time property owner. A tiny office tucked into the basement of an old, unkempt building in a part of the city where the rents were cheap but not much was worth buying. He was young, in his twenties. His hair was slicked back using copious amounts of gel and his open shirt exposed a chest matted with hair. These unappealing qualities aside, he had the build necessary to drown a man Crombie's size in a can of paint.
"Yeah," Carter was saying. "Mark Warner offered to partner up with me. He wanted to develop my brownstone into luxury lofts." He looked from her to Castle. "What is this about?"
"That's a sweet deal," Castle said, making it sound like Mark Warner was getting taken for a ride. "We've seen the brownstone. It's in terrible shape." He turned to Beckett. "Remind me: how many building codes exactly are in violation in that lovely construction?"
"Enough to put Mr. Carter here deep in hot water," she replied, looking Carter squarely in the eye.
"Or deep in green paint," Castle offered.
Carter frowned in confusion at Castle's remark.
"Do you know what the jail time is for code violations in the city?" Kate asked.
"Come on!" Carter said in a near-whine, turning to Kate. "The building was like that when I got it! I inherited it from my dad." He slumped back in his chair. He rubbed a hand over his face, the large gold rings on his fingers shining in the light, before turning pitiful eyes on her. "Would you believe it? The guy owns millions in property all over the city, but he leaves me one decrepit, ugly-assed brownstone in an even uglier neighbourhood. The rest goes to his 25-year old trophy wife. Thank god for gentrification. It's my chance to move up in the business."
"Except John Crombie refused to move out," Kate said.
"Must have put quite the dent in your plans." Castle prodded.
"Dent," Carter scoffed. "I was just about ready to kill the guy."
Castle winced. "Ooh. Poor choice of words," he said, somewhat sympathetically.
Carter once again looked at Castle in confusion. He didn't look like much of a liar, Kate thought. That confusion was too genuine.
"John Crombie was murdered early this morning," she informed him, watching him closely.
His face whipped to Kate's, shock evident. "Murdered?" His eyes practically bulged out of his head. "No way!"
"Way," Castle said.
"Where were you between 3AM to 4AM this morning?" she asked.
"Wait, wait." Carter leaned in over his desk. Kate could see the tobacco stains on his teeth. "You think I killed him?"
"He was about to cost you millions," Kate pointed out.
"No," Carter said intently. "No, he wasn't. He called me yesterday afternoon, said he wanted to talk. I told him to meet me at the Java Hut on Broadway, in Battery Park at 5PM. You see, Mark offered Crombie one last deal: first choice of a loft in the new construction. Crombie called me to say he would take the deal."
"Why would he suddenly agree?" Kate was skeptical. "After holding out for six months?"
"I don't know!" Carter put his palms up defensively. "And frankly I didn't care. Crombie was even okay with paying the increased rent. Said he didn't care about that, he could afford it. He just wanted to be able to paint in that location."
"He met with you to tell you that?" Castle asked, sharing in her doubt. "Why not just tell you over the phone?"
"Oh, no, that's not why we met." Carter started rummaging through the papers and empty food containers on his desk, before victoriously pulling a sheaf of A4's out of the mess. "Here." He handed the papers to her. "He met with me to sign the contract."
Kate looked over the papers. "Can I have a copy of this?"
"Of course."
"Did Crombie say anything to you when you met?" Castle asked as he read the contract over Kate's shoulder.
"I told Crombie we were going to start on the project immediately," Carter answered, "and he'd have to vacate ASAP. He said it was just as well. He needed to get out of town for a while."
"Did he say where he was going?"
"No."
Kate looked over at Castle. Well, she thought, this is getting interesting. If the look in Castle's eye was anything to go by, he agreed with her assessment.
She turned to Carter. "You never answered my question: where were you between 3AM and 4AM this morning?"
Carter flushed. "I, uh, may have been with a lady."
"A lady?" Kate arched an eyebrow.
"A, um, lady … of the night." He refused to make eye contact with her. She glanced at Castle, who was clearly amused by Carter's use of the phrase.
"We'll need a name."
"I won't get in trouble over this, will I?" Carter asked her.
Kate bit back a sigh. "If your alibi checks out," she said, "You won't be under investigation."
"Glitter," he said. "Her name is Lady Glitter."
"Thank you for your time, Mr. Carter," Kate stood up, "We'll be in touch."
She followed Castle out of Carter's office, shutting the door behind her.
"Lady Glitter?" Castle said, as soon as they were in the dank hallway. "I mean, seriously? That is so … not classy."
"Maybe he doesn't like it classy."
Castle's grimace was very eloquent. "So," he asked, "What next?"
"Well, we don't know where Crombie was planning to go, or why he wanted to leave town, but I know someone who might."
"Who?"
"Crombie's agent."
Arthur Fitzwilliam's offices were a world apart from David Carter's. Cathedral ceilings, floor-to-ceiling windows, gleaming hardwood floor and the kind of furniture Kate wouldn't be able to afford on a lifetime's worth of cop salary. Hell, she was sure the couch she was sitting on cost more than her Harley. And the artwork - it was enough to make Kate salivate. She recognized a few of the pieces, but for the rest it seemed Fitzwilliam had a taste for sculptures from the Far East, which was outside Kate's area of knowledge.
"I can't believe he's dead," Fitzwilliam said, shaking his head. The early evening light glinted off his silver hair. "He was going to be one of the great ones."
Kate leaned forward, treating him as she would a bereaved family member. It seemed to be what he needed at the moment. "I am sorry, Mr. Fitzwilliam."
"How did this happen?"
"That's what we're trying to find out," she replied. "How long have you known Mr. Crombie?"
"We met at a gallery opening in Chelsea … what was it? Eight years ago? He showed me his portfolio." A glimmer of a smile lit up Fitzwilliam's face. He chuckled. "Insisted I look at it, wouldn't take no for an answer. I was always immeasurably glad I did. His talent was evident, even back then."
Kate gave him a moment before broaching the necessary. "I know this is a difficult time for you, Mr. Fitzwilliam, but I have some questions-"
"Of course, of course," Fitzwilliam interjected. "Please, anything I can do." He leaned intently towards her, his sharp blue eyes giving her his full attention. Kate took a moment to adjust to his obvious charisma. He looked to be in his early fifties, and the cut of his expensive suit did nothing to hide the fact that he was clearly still in great shape. She'd bet charm was his secret, or perhaps not-so-secret, weapon.
"Did Mr. Crombie mention anything about taking a break from painting? Leaving town for a while?" She watched his eyes widen in surprise.
"A break? No." He shook his head adamantly, "nothing of the sort. He never mentioned it." His expression was earnest, rueful. "You know, even in his darkest times, painting is what kept his head above water." He hesitated, then added: "In every sense."
"What do you mean?" Castle asked.
"Well," he glanced from Castle to her, "John had a tough life growing up. His family was dirt poor. His father was in and out of jail when John was a kid, until he was killed while trying to hold up a bodega. His mother was murdered in a convenience store robbery two years later. Ironic twist of fate."
Kate caught Castle's wince at the agent's misuse of the term.
"John was put in foster care after that," Fitzwilliam continued, oblivious to the byplay. "He's always been … temperamental, moody. He has suffered from depression for a large part of his life, and he has refused to take his medication most of the time. He said it killed his creativity."
"Can you think of anyone who would want Crombie dead?"
"Well," Fitzwilliam began slowly, "John wasn't the easiest guy to get along with, but…" He shook his head, the notion seemed too much to consider. "Kill him? I can't..." He stopped suddenly, looked unsure.
"Anything would help," Kate encouraged.
"Well, there was this one woman. She kept coming to all his showings, following John around. At his last one, she threw her glass of wine in his face after accusing him of flirting with other women. It was rather..." He searched the air for a word. "Dramatic."
"Were they dating?" Castle asked.
"Not that I know of," he responded. "Just some unbalanced woman. Sometimes, regrettably, when one gets a bit famous, the unbalanced just crawl out of the woodwork."
"Do you have a name?" Another suspect, Kate thought. Though she had a hard time picturing a woman drowning a man the size of Crombie in a pot of paint.
"Julie something?" He paused, and then exclaimed, suddenly remembering, "Wait! I have a picture! She threw a glassful of wine in John's face just as I was taking a photo of him and one of his biggest patrons at a charity auction." He pulled out his phone and scrolled through the photos. "I kept it, because … well … at the time the sight of a spluttering John just seemed too great to pass up." He held his phone out to her. "Here it is."
"Can you send me the photo?" She waited for Fitzwiliam's nod. "One last question: where were you between 3AM and 4AM this morning?"
"You don't think I–"
"We have to ask, Mr. Ftizwilliam."
"Oh, of course. Well, I'm an avid rock climber," Fitzwilliam replied, disconcerted. "I met with friends for a climb at Shawagunk Ridge this morning. It's about an hour and a half north of here. We were scheduled to meet at 5AM, so I left the city pretty early in the morning."
"Thank you," Kate smiled as she stood.
"Anything I can do."
"A stalker," Kate said as they exited onto the street. "It's a lead we'll have to follow up on, but I'm not so sure it'll pan out."
"Why not?" Castle asked, falling in step beside her. "He's right about crazy people coming out of the woodwork."
"Speaking from experience there, Castle?" She couldn't help herself. He made quite the easy target sometimes. Most of the time.
"Hey," he exclaimed, giving her a meaningful look. "You've seen my fan mail. And you've met my first wife." He shivered exaggeratedly.
Kate grinned in amusement, but only because Castle wasn't looking.
"Picture this, Detective," he began, donning his story-teller voice. "A single, lonely woman in New York. Her job is unfulfilling, she doesn't have much of a life. Comes home to her cramped apartment every evening, thinking there must be something out there for me. She craves excitement, something to break the monotony her life has become."
Castle paused dramatically here, building up a little suspense. Kate wouldn't deny enjoying these theories he spun. Often times, they were better than the words he put on paper and published in his books, simply because it seemed to her she had her own private tale-weaver. And Richard Castle, at that.
"Then," Castle continued, "One Saturday, she's at a gallery opening looking for some escape from her life. An up-and-coming new artist is on display. And his work just speaks to her, it offers her something she can't get out of her dull job, her non-existent personal life. So she attends more and more of his shows, and then little by little, her obsession with the art is turned into an obsession with the artist. He makes her feel alive. She talks to him, approaches him. In her twisted fantasies fueled by intense loneliness, she thinks he's responding to her on a deep, intimate level. Then she sees him flirting with other women. It's the ultimate betrayal. Her carefully crafted fantasy is shattered. She snaps. Follows him to his studio to confront him. He calls her crazy. She loses it and kills him, holds his head under the very paint through which he used to speak to her, the paint he used to chase away her isolation."
Kate gave him his moment of dramatic sobriety. It kept him content, after all.
"It's a good story, Castle," she said when she deemed the moment had passed. "But I don't buy it. A woman her size drowning a full-grown adult male? Let alone someone with Crombie's height and build? Not likely."
"Well, okay," Castle acknowledged, "but crazy ladies are like tripping meth addicts - superhuman strength."
"Meth users don't actually have superhuman strength. They just think they do." But then she relented, because she was going to do it anyways. It was just fun to poke holes in Castle's stories. "I'll have Ryan and Esposito track her down. If she was stalking him, she might know what he was up to the evening before his murder."
Kate pulled her phone from her pocket, emailing Esposito the picture of the stalker before calling him. Once the instructions were dispensed with and the line disconnected, she turned to Castle.
"They'll look into it first thing in the morning."
"You're heading home?" he asked in surprise.
She shook her head. "I have to update the files with this latest interview. Then I'll head home. But it's getting late," she indicated the darkening sky with a wave of her hand, "and we both know how much you hate paperwork, so you go ahead. Spend an evening with Alexis."
"How about I creepily stare at you while you do your paperwork, and then I treat you to Remi's for dinner?"
She eyed him suspiciously. Based on what he'd said about Alexis' moping session this morning, he should be spending time with his daughter.
"No hidden motives!" He raised his hands.
"Are you trying to avoid dinner with your heartsick daughter?" She frowned at him.
"No!" he protested, and then sighed rather petulantly. "She called me while you were getting the agent's address. She and Ashley are having dinner together over skype tonight."
"That's… actually cute."
"Sickening, isn't it?" He made a face.
She punched his arm, but not very hard.
"Come on," he tried again, in that warm, endearing tone of voice. "Have dinner with me. Distract a father from the thought of losing his only daughter to some Stanford upstart."
Kate laughed, shaking her head at his dramatics. Why the heck not. "Fine. But I am not sharing my milkshake with you."
"Like I'd even want to share with you," he said, sounding much like a five-year old.
She grinned, but whatever retort she was ready to grace him with was cut short by the ringing of her cellphone.
"Beckett," she answered the call.
"We just got a call from Crombie's alarm company." It was Ryan. "Someone opened the door to his apartment."
"Right now?" she asked in surprise.
"Not even a minute ago. How far out are you?"
"Maybe 5 minutes, tops."
"Esposito and I are on our way. We should be there in 10."
"We'll meet you there, but we won't wait."
She disconnected, jogging towards the car as she did, knowing Castle was right behind her.
"That was Ryan. The alarm company just called. Someone entered Crombie's studio not two minutes ago. We're meeting Ryan and Esposito there."
"Stay here, Castle," Kate whispered, gun in hand, as they stood in the hall outside Crombie's studio. "You're not allowed inside." She waited for his nod before slowly opening the front door. She peeked inside, and although the sun had set a few minutes ago, there was enough light in the studio for her to make out a masked figure. He was digging through the shelves, by the back door, searching for something. He seemed to be unarmed.
"Police," she said loudly and clearly, pushing the door open and entering the apartment. Kate raised her gun. "Freeze."
The figure did just that, startled in mid-motion. Male, she noted, 5'11". He turned his face to look at her. His foot twitched.
"Don't move," she gave her best glare. "You're under arrest for-"
The figure pulled open the door next to him, the one that led to the absent fire escape.
"There's no escape." Kate said taking slow steps towards the masked figure. "Unless you want to jump down five storeys."
The figure put his hands up and suddenly started walking towards her.
"Stop," she said, "or I will shoot. Down on your knees," she told the figure, readying herself for an attack. She saw no sign of a gun on him, at least not within easy reach. "Hands behind your head."
To her surprise, the figure suddenly about-turned and sprinted towards the open fire-escape door.
"What the-" she heard Castle say.
When the masked intruder reached the open doorway, he leaped straight out the door and into the air between the two alleys.
"Did you see that?" Castle half-screeched, half-squealed.
Kate ran to the open door and watched the intruder as he sailed across the alley and onto the fire escape on the neighbouring building, landing rather ungracefully when one of his feet hit the railing and tripped him. He slammed into the opposite building's brick wall and seemed rather dazed, shaking his head and trying to get his bearings.
She sized up her odds. Pretty good, Kate decided. She still held her high school's record in the long jump after all.
Kate holstered her gun, took a dozen steps back into the room and turned around. She took a breath, sprinted towards the door, and leaped.
Castle watched Beckett leap out of the door and sail through the air, her face a mask of freaky zen-like determination.
"HOLY SHIT!" Castle yelled. And then ran to the doorway she had just freaking jumped right out of. "BECKETT!"
He shut his eyes tight, not sure if he could watch how this would unfold. But then he of course immediately opened his eyes, and just in time to see her grab onto the railing for the fire escape across the alley, swinging forward violently with the momentum of her jump.
Holy crap, he thought, his heart pounding in his chest. That was close.
She hung onto the railing for a moment, before swinging down to the landing right below her.
Wow. Castle marvelled. That was - wow. That was amazing. Right out of the movies. She just jumped, like, ten feet. Maybe fifteen? And then swung down like a ninja.
He watched her chase the intruder down the fire escape for a moment, trying to calculate his odds of making that jump.
"I'm coming!" He called out. He could do it too. He walked back into the room and took a deep breath. He turned to face the open doorway. He took another deep breath. If the intruder and Beckett could do it, so could he. He took another deep breath. And then he sprinted towards the door. Run, Richard Castle, run like the wind and then jump.
Just as he reached the open doorway, his arms shot out to stop his forward momentum, latching onto either side of the doorway. Are you crazy! his brain screeched. He teetered for one horrifying moment during which his entire life flashed before his eyes, and then when the world stopped spinning he was euphoric to note that he was still on the inside of Crombie's studio, and not decorating the ground in that alley below.
He had too much to live for, he told himself as he gasped for breath and composure, to try jumping across a freaking alley. He gave one last look down those five terrifying storeys.
"I'll take the stairs!" He called out to Beckett, just as she tackled the intruder on the first landing of the fire escape.
He'd better hurry.
He turned tail and ran down the five flights of stairs before bursting out of the brownstone and turning towards the alley. When he ran into the alley, Beckett was still engaged in a tussle with the intruder on the narrow bottom landing of the fire escape. They were a good storey up, and the ladder had not been pulled so he couldn't do much but text Ryan and Esposito to let them know they should come immediately to the alley. He watched for a tense moment as Beckett dodged a punch, falling back enough to swipe the legs out from under the intruder. He fell back onto the railing, but immediately launched himself at her. Caught off balance, Castle watched in horror as Kate was shoved over the railing by the intruder.
The scene unfolded in slow motion.
She froze in midair as she tumbled over the side of the fire escape. Her arms reached wildly for something, anything, to grab onto as she fell to the ground ten feet below. Her scream filled the night for only an instant, before she hit the ground with a deafening thump.
"KATE!" Castle saw red. Jaw clenched, fists shaking, he ran towards the intruder who by now had swung down to the ground. Just as the masked man landed, Castle charged right into the bastard. The edges of his vision greyed by pure rage, Castle smashed into the intruder and sent him crashing to the ground. It was a hard enough fall to knock the wind out of Castle for a moment and by the time he regrouped, the intruder was fighting back, struggling to throw Castle off of him.
Castle lifted a hand, already fisted, ready to punch the living daylights out of the scum beneath him, when he saw a sudden flash of silver in the intruder's hand.
He didn't have time to register what he was looking at, before a sharp pain flashed in his side. His eyes widened. He looked down to see the hilt of a very large blade sticking out of his vest.
Kate opened her eyes, dazed. It took her a moment to remind her body how to breathe, and she used that moment to try and remember what the hell had happened.
It came back slowly. Foot chase. Alley. Fire escape.
She groaned, rallying her strength to sit up. Her head spun as she sat upright. She was forgetting something...
The loud grunt that came from a few feet to her left brought it all back.
Castle.
She turned in time to see the masked intruder shove Castle off him and stand up. Kate pushed herself up, ignored the dizziness and ran towards the two men.
"Freeze!" she yelled, reaching for her gun, even though that hadn't been a very effective order the last time.
She was about to chase the intruder, who was sprinting down the alley, when she noted that Castle wasn't exactly moving right. She stopped beside him and crouched down. He was her first priority.
"Castle?" she asked, looking him in the eye. He was leaning back against a dumpster. "Are you okay?" She glanced down the alley one last time, in time to see the intruder take a right turn onto the street, and then shifted her entire focus to Castle.
He looked up at her vacantly. His eyes slowly drifted down until he was looking at his hand covering the left side of his abdomen.
She saw the blood seeping through his fingers immediately.
"Castle!" The depth and breadth of her world shrank, fitting into the space between her and Castle and the blood covering his hand. No. She thought, desperately. Not like this.
"Let me see," she said. Anxiety gripped her words, tightened around her throat. She moved his hand away, and found that hers were shaking. Because the last person she'd seen like this was in the crime scene photos taped to a window in her apartment.
She took a deep breath. Focus, Kate. He looked pale. And scared. She took another deep breath. Panic would only scare him more. She tried to look as comforting as she could as she looked him in the eye.
"It's okay, Rick." She tried for a smile. "Let me look."
The panic in his eyes abated, and he removed his hand. She unstrapped his vest, trying to be gentle. He hissed in pain.
"Sorry, Rick." Tears were blurring her vision. Her hands wouldn't stop shaking. "I'm sorry. I'm just going to look-"
She stared at the wide gash in his upper left abdomen. It looked as wide as a machete wound. And a sharp one at that, to go through his vest so cleanly. And if he hadn't been wearing the vest … Kate's breaths were difficult to come by.
He was bleeding so much.
"Castle," she said, trying to tame the trembling in her voice. "I need you to lie down. Here," she cradled his head with one hand, helped him lie down. "You're okay, Rick. Lift your knees up," she instructed, and then helped him with that too. "It'll help with the bleeding."
"He stabbed me, Kate," Castle said. He was in shock. "It was a very big knife."
"Sh," she soothed, gently running a hand through his hair. "It's going to be okay." It's going to be okay, she repeated silently for her own benefit.
She quickly removed her vest and then unfastened her shirt.
"I'm going to apply pressure okay? You're going to help me." She put her shirt against his wound and pressed down. "Here, hold this down while I call in an ambulance." She fumbled for her phone in her pocket, keeping one hand pressed against his wound.
"Hey," he said as his hands closed around the one she was using to hold her shirt against his abdomen He sounded just a little bit like himself. He nodded towards the tank top she was wearing. "You should take that off, too." He grinned up at her.
"Shut up, Castle," she said, voice unsteady, heart pounding furiously. "Don't talk right now."
Her hands were sticky with his blood and she couldn't get her damn touchscreen phone to work. She wiped the phone against her jeans, trying her hardest not to start panicking.
"Beckett!" Esposito's voice. Kate sagged in relief as he and Ryan ran up to them.
"Call a bus!" she near-yelled at Esposito, "Castle's been stabbed." He didn't move for an instant, just stared at the scene in front of him. "Now!" Kate commanded, her composure quickly slipping.
She turned to a shell-shocked Ryan. "Ryan. Suspect is on foot, he went west out the alley. Black mask. Blue jacket and jeans. 5'11"…" Big knife, she thought, but couldn't say it out loud. "Go!" she said when Ryan still hadn't moved. He gave Castle one last look before sprinting off, cell phone already out.
"Ambulance is on its way," Esposito said, coming over to them. He crouched by Castle, eyes gauging the severity of his injury. "Your first war wound, bro," he told the writer, trying for an encouraging tone.
"So cool," Castle said, but Kate noted that he looked even paler than before, and his blood was seeping clean through her shirt and was warm on her hands. "You should've seen her," he told Espo. His eyes were dilated, sweat beaded on his forehead.
"Castle," Kate said, not a little desperately, "for once in your life listen to me and stop talking."
"She jumped right … across the … alley," he continued, oblivious to her orders, his eyes shining with excited awe. "Nikki is so doing that in the next book." He paused to catch his breath, winced as she pressed a little harder to try and staunch the flow.
"Castle, please." Tears were trailing down her face, dripping from her chin and onto their joined hands. She couldn't stop them. Her hands were shaking. Her whole body was shaking. "Please," she whispered.
He shifted his eyes from Esposito to her, his focus penetratingly clear for the space of a heartbeat.
"Kate," he said, and then she watched as that excited, warm, bright spark in his eye dulled.
"Castle!" Sirens were blaring in the distance. "Castle, the ambulance will be here in just a minute!" Don't leave me, she wanted to say, but that brought back things she wasn't yet ready to think about. "No," she said instead, even as his eyelids fell shut and his head lolled to the side.
"No," she pleaded, as Esposito sat helpless besides her, waiting for the ambulances to arrive. "No." And it became a mantra as she applied more pressure on the wound, repeating the same word over and over because her mother bled out in an alley and she'd be damned if she let Castle do the same.