Disclaimer: Don't own any of it
A/N: FYI, folks, I am not able to guarantee a posting schedule over the next week. I went from traveling to places where the internet situation was somewhat reliable to one where it is completely uncertain. (I was actually going to post this chapter yesterday, but just as I hit the submit button, the connection died. Ugh). I'm going to try and post a chapter this weekend, but then I can't promise to post again until late next week, at the earliest. I'll try, but no promises.
When you finish reading this chapter, we'll be halfway through the story (!). Honestly, writing this fic has been quite a challenge. Thanks to those of you who are leaving feedback. Makes this exercise feel more like a give-and-take, and less like releasing a bunch of words into the internet ether.
The Art of Living 4/8
"I have a press circus on my hands, Detective." Gates was glaring. Beckett stood in front of the captain's desk, hands clasped in front of her, offended but unsurprised that Gates' had not even bothered to ask how Castle was doing. Knowing he hadn't been killed seemed enough for her.
"The city is clamouring for details on the famous Richard Castle's heroics. The mayor ordered me to say that Castle was attacked while bravely attempting to subdue a suspect during a foot chase."
That was a close approximation of the truth, Kate thought. Except for the 'bravely' part. It was more like stupidly.
"I happen to think he was more stupid than brave," Gates muttered.
Beckett stared in surprise at hearing Gates echo her thoughts.
That was creepy, said a voice in her head. It sounded uncannily like Castle.
"Your pal is lucky the mayor is on his side in this. He's even luckier the mayor thinks any press is good press." Gates shook her head, clearly disgusted. "And we're lucky he signed all that paperwork stating that the NYPD would not be liable for any injuries." She glared again at Beckett, with a ferocity that would've reduced a lesser being to a quivering pile of ashes. "We're damned lucky he didn't get himself killed."
Kate wisely kept her silence, because she knew that if she opened her mouth she'd end up saying something insulting to the captain.
"Did you give your statement?" Gates was still glaring.
"Yes, Sir."
"Any leads on the Crombie case? Or the Castle case?"
Kate flinched at hearing that. Castle case … She did not want to see his picture up on any murderboard. "Uniforms found the bowie knife and mask used in the attack in a dumpster four blocks from the alley. No prints on the knife, but it's a very high-end piece – looks like a collector's item – so Esposito is tracing it back to its owner. CSU is also searching the crime scene: the intruder came looking for something and, whatever it was, he didn't find it; but we will."
Gates nodded, satisfied for the moment. "Keep me posted, Detective. The mayor wants hourly updates." And then her glare was back. "And remember that the only reason you're still on this case is because the mayor insists that Richard Castle would demand you be the one investigating his assault." She paused to make sure her words sank in. "If it were up to me, I'd have you benched."
"Yes, Sir." Beckett exited the office, more than a little impressed that she had been able to hold her tongue. Have her benched. It'd be a cold day in hell before she let anyone take this case from her.
"She mad?" Ryan joined her as she walked to her desk.
"That's the understatement of the year." Beckett was still scowling. Did Gates think she couldn't be impartial? That she would jeopardize the case? Clearly, Gates did not know what Kate Beckett was made of.
"Word is the vest saved Castle's life," Ryan said.
Kate faltered in her steps. She was not ready for this. She counted backward from 20 in Russian, tried not to hear what Ryan was saying. To ignore the sudden buzzing in her head and sweat on her palms. She knew talking about it was Ryan's way of dealing with it. But she couldn't even think about it yet. She sometimes wished Ryan had Esposito's tact when it came to reading her.
"The size of the knife they found in the dumpster is enough to take out a boar," he continued. "So losing part of his spleen is the best outcome doctors could've hoped for, given-."
"Any word on Lady Glitter?" She cut in abruptly. She couldn't handle this just now. Ryan looked at her in surprise.
"We need to verify Carter's alibi so we can rule him out," she told him, ignoring his reaction. "Right now, we're adding suspects without removing any."
"Right." Ryan watched her closely, trying to read her, before addressing her question. "I spoke with Vice. Turns out Lady Glitter is part of a trafficking ring operating here in NYC. They've had her under surveillance for weeks. Carter was with her from midnight to 5AM. "
"Okay." Kate walked over to the murderboard. She moved Carter's picture out from the 'Suspects' column to the more tame 'Persons of Interest'. "That rules him out. How's the search of the crime scene going?"
"CSU is still at it, but they sent me a photo while you were inside with Gates. They found a paper in Crombie's studio." He handed her the folder he was holding. "This was on one of the shelves, hidden among other papers."
Kate opened it to find a photograph of a sheet of paper. Eight words were printed on it: I know who you are. You will pay.
She frowned. "What does it mean? Blackmail?"
"Could be. It would fit." Ryan said. "CSU is running the original for prints."
She rubbed a hand over tired eyes. It was six in the morning, and she had yet to sleep. "It could be nothing." Beckett stared at the paper. "Crombie sometimes used mixed media in his work, not only paint. Maybe it was part of some project?"
"I'll talk to his assistant. She'd know if that's the case."
"You can probably catch a couple of hours of sleep first," Kate suggested, noting the tired lines on his face. "His assistant won't be awake at this hour anyways."
Ryan hesitated.
"I can make it an order," Kate threatened, only half-joking.
"If you need me," Ryan warned, "if anything comes up-"
"I'll call you, Ryan."
He was still reluctant. "You should probably catch some shut-eye, too," he said carefully.
"I'm fine." Truthfully, she was worried about what waited for her in sleep. She still hadn't been able to shake either her guilt or her anger over the situation with Castle. Under normal circumstances, she would have headed to the gym's punching bag, but she didn't want to tire herself out. She wanted to catch whoever had injured Castle and traumatized Alexis. And she still hurt from the fall she'd taken, the stiffness was slowly claiming her, the dull headache ever-present. No, the gym would be a bad idea.
"Go, Ryan."
"Alright," he said, not sounding too happy about it. "I'm going."
Beckett waited until Ryan had left before slumping down in her chair. She reached into her desk drawer for painkillers and, too tired to bother getting up again, swallowed them dry. Kate ran her hands through her hair, giving herself a moment, before she sighed heavily and turned to study the murderboard. She was going to put the pieces of this puzzle together, put order to this entire mess.
"The first crime, Crombie's murder," she muttered mostly to herself, thinking aloud, "had to have been planned." She looked over the timeline. The latest the murder could've been committed was around 4AM, which was still hours before Crombie's assistant was expected to show up at the studio. The killer had enough time to cover the entire crime scene in green paint. He was clearly in no rush.
So why not search the crime scene for whatever he was looking for when he killed Crombie? He had the time. The voice that sounded exactly like Castle's was back in her head.
Maybe he forgot, maybe he was interrupted, Beckett answered. She ignored for the moment that she was building theory with an absent Castle. Whatever worked.
Or maybe that wasn't the killer.
"Come on, Castle," Beckett said aloud, before she could stop herself. "What are you basing that theory on?"
"Beckett?" Karpowski looked at her oddly from across the room. "Are you okay?"
"Uh," Kate stuttered, embarrassed at being caught talking to Castle in her head. "Fine. Just this case, you know."
Karpowski nodded, unconvinced, but went back to her work.
Alright, Castle, Beckett thought, let's say the intruder and the killer are not the same person-
They can't be the same person, Beckett. The killer wouldn't risk coming back to the crime scene to look for something the cops didn't even know was there.
He didn't know that we didn't know, Beckett pointed out.
It makes more sense for the killer to have searched the crime scene after he committed the murder. He had the time to find whatever he was looking for.
So the two aren't related? We have two separate crimes going on here? I don't believe in coincidences, Castle; the break-in and the murder have to be related. And was Crombie leaving town to get away from the person who killed him for whatever was in the studio, or the person who broke into his studio to find that same thing, whatever it is?
Beckett waited. This was just about the time when Castle usually proved himself most useful, but the Castle in her head remained silent. No theatrical theories.
She sighed.
"Beckett," Esposito called to her as he entered the precinct.
"Tell me you have something, Esposito," she said, happy to be distracted from the sudden silence in her thoughts. From the slight skip in his step, she would bet good money Esposito had found a lead.
"Met with a buddy of mine who collects knives," he said. "Our bowie is definitely a collector's piece. Not only that: it's custom-made. Maker's initials are engraved on the hilt. Turns out it's by a guy in Brooklyn who specializes in making pimped out hunting knives."
"Didn't know there was a market for that," she commented.
"It gets better: I call the guy in Brooklyn. After being reamed a new one for waking him up at 5 in the morning-"
That image almost made Beckett smile.
"-He tells me, yeah, he remembers the knife. It's not every day a woman asks for a custom-made knife, let alone a woman who looks like she walked out of a Bergdorf magazine and doesn't know the first thing about knives. He had to talk her down from putting gold leaf on the blade."
"Did he give you a name?"
"Julie Perkins." Esposito grinned.
"Julie. Fitzwilliam said the stalker's name was Julie." Beckett matched his victorious grin. "Good work, Espo."
There was something decidedly off about the woman sitting across from her, Beckett thought.
Crazy eyes, Beckett. She has crazy eyes.
Shut up, Castle! She silently scolded. Of course her inner Castle would pick now to reappear.
"Do you recognize this knife, Mrs. Perkins?" Beckett asked, handing over a photo of the knife that had been used on Castle.
It turned out that Julie Perkins was not single. She was an older woman, married to a very successful and very busy attorney. She also lived in the exact opposite of a cramped apartment. The apartment she shared with her husband was all high ceilings and marble columns, with large windows looking out over Central Park. She didn't work, beyond her engagement in various philanthropic causes that were more an excuse to mix with high society than actually do good. Kate would relish telling Castle just how far off the mark he was with his pseudo-profile. That said, he was right about one thing: Mrs. Perkins was bored of her life. She also had a patent air of desperate loneliness hanging about her.
The woman in question glanced at the picture with a superior, condescending air. When she saw the knife, though, she froze.
"Where did you get this from?" she asked imperiously.
"This knife was used to carry out an assault," Beckett replied, watching her.
"A crime?" Her voice shook slightly, self-command slowly leeched away by sudden fear.
How delightfully suspicious.
Not now, Castle.
"Is..." Mrs. Perkins' hands shook as she held the photo. She looked at Kate through fearful eyes. "Is John okay?"
She doesn't know about the murder!
"Ma'am," Beckett began gently. "John Crombie was murdered in his apartment yesterday morning."
"No!" Mrs. Perkins cried out. She covered her face with her hands and let out large, heaving sobs. "Not Johnny!" She wept loudly and freely. "Not my Johnny!"
Awkward.
Beckett automatically looked to her left, where Castle would normally have been seated. Of course, the seat was empty.
"Ma'am," Beckett said, trying to get in a word edgewise, between the sobs. "Ma'am?"
No response, just more sobs.
Beckett gave up trying and instead handed the lady a handful of tissues from the box on the end table.
Mrs. Perkins finally looked up at Beckett through red-rimmed, tear-filled eyes as she took the tissues and used them to dab at her cheeks. "Who did this? Who would kill such a beautiful, transcendental soul?" she hiccupped, and then gave a regretful sigh. "I should have given him a rabbit's foot instead of a knife."
"Why did you give him the knife?" Beckett asked, knowing full well that was the kind of detail Castle would want an answer to. She didn't think it made a difference to the case.
"Because he had the heart of a warrior," the woman replied.
Right.
"Did you and Mr. Crombie have a fight at a recent exhibit?" Beckett returned to more pressing matters. "Witnesses saw you yell and throw your drink in his face."
Mrs. Perkins turned cold eyes on Beckett. "John was young. He didn't know what was good for him."
"And what was good for him?"
"Well," Mrs. Perkins looked at Beckett as though it were the stupidest question to ask, "me, of course. He painted for me, you know. I was his muse."
Crazy eyes. I told you so.
"Were you..." Beckett tried to choose her words carefully. "...in a relationship with Mr. Crombie?"
"Dear, our souls were in communion."
"What did you husband think of this communion?"
"Andrew didn't know about the bond between me and Johnny." She sighed, a sound somewhere between cunning and sadness. "Andrew is so busy with work, I doubt he even noticed." Tears filled her eyes again. "This is my fault."
Beckett waited for the wave of grief to pass, before urging Mrs. Perkins along. "Your fault?"
"I overheard Johnny and his agent that night." Mrs. Perkins continued, "I should have said something."
"What did you overhear?"
"They were having a rather heated argument. I wanted to intervene, but by the time I got there, Johnny was letting some woman flirt with him." Disdain dripped from her words. "As though her soul were worthy of him."
"The argument, Mrs. Perkins," Beckett prodded patiently.
"Something about blackmail."
"What exactly did you hear?" Kate leaned forward, interest peaked. That was two leads pointing in the direction of blackmail.
"Mr. Fitzwilliam was telling Johnny to be careful, that blackmail wasn't something to be taken lightly. Johnny got quite upset; he said the integrity of art was more important than money, that he would part with a million dollars before he compromised his convictions." She sighed fondly, a fresh wave of tears appeared. "That was my Johnny," she told Beckett. "Such a wise soul."
"Where were you yesterday morning, between 3AM and 4AM, Mrs. Perkins?"
"My husband had one of those tiresome work parties on Friday night," she replied, still dabbing at her eyes. "We didn't leave until about three. Reached home at 4:30, can you imagine!" She was more animated now, as though sharing some scandalous secret. "We had to drop one of Andrew's partners to his home. I could drown a tanker in the amount of liquor that odious man had consumed. Abhorrent behaviour. You can ask the driver, he'd have the exact times." She paused, hesitating as she clutched the tissue in her hand. "Is that when my Johnny was killed?" She moved to the edge of the couch, leaning in to confide in Beckett. "I knew I felt something. I knew it. At the time I thought it was because Andrew's partner was throwing up all over my shoes, but it was really Johnny's soul saying goodbye to me." She let out a shuddering breath. "Oh, Johnny."
Forty minutes later, Beckett was walking down the hospital hallway to Castle's room. He would have loved the interview with Mrs. Perkins, she thought. That woman was right up his alley: severely unhinged and oddly compelling. Just the right mix of crazy.
She stopped outside his room, looking at her reflection in the fire emergency case on the wall. Kate rubbed the tiredness from her eyes as she tried to evaluate what she was feeling.
Anger and guilt were there, but she thought she'd suppressed them well enough. She didn't want to slap or shake or even hug Castle anymore. Beckett took a breath, readying herself to enter the room, when she registered the conversation coming from within.
"Guys," Castle was saying, "it was awesome. Epic. She leaped over a whole alley, from the door to the fire escape. And in those crazy high heels of hers." He sounded very unlike himself. Almost … loopy. "It was right out of the movies! For serious."
"Did you jump, too?" Ryan asked in an amused tone. He was clearly enjoying a drugged up Castle.
"Are you kidding me?" Castle scoffed. "I leave the heroics to the real heroes. And the crazy criminals."
"You were scared weren't you?" This from Esposito.
"Out of my mind." He acknowledged very seriously. "Do you know how high up we were? Five storeys!" He let out a deep breath. "I saw my life flash in front of my eyes, and she just – whooosh – leaped."
Kate smiled as she entered his room. His childish exuberance had vastly improved her mood. Like everything was perfectly normal. Like he didn't blame her for what had happened to him.
"I heard you were opening a flower shop," she teased, holding out a vase of flowers.
"Beckett!" Castle exclaimed happily. "I was just telling my captive audience about your superpowers!" As he watched her put the flowers at the foot of his bed, his eyes lit up. "Oooh! Super Becks brought me flowers! So. Pretty."
Kate arched an eyebrow at that. High as a kite.
Esposito and Ryan were grinning. She hazarded a glance at Alexis, whom she'd just noticed was in the room. Castle's daughter was watching her, looking … worried.
Beckett's good mood retreated, replaced with concern. With guilt.
"Sorry, Super Becks," Castle said, misinterpreting her frown. But then he perked up immediately. "But I do have millions. Of fans. In my audience that is. All captives. But by choice. So, you know," he looked from Ryan to Esposito, "you can't arrest me or anything. Although," he turned to Kate and gave a rather drunken version of his rakish grin, "I know you're a fan."
"How are you, Castle?" she asked, cutting him off before he could say more.
Castle sighed dramatically – thank goodness he was easily distracted. "I'm trying to hatch a plot to escape this vile, boring place. Tweedledee and Tweedledum," he gestured towards Ryan and Esposito, "refuse to help. At least the drugs are really, really good."
"Is he Tweedledee, or am I?" Esposito asked. Castle looked from him to Ryan, frowning in deep consideration of the question, while the two partners tried really hard not to let their grins break into laughs.
"How are you, Detective Beckett?" Alexis asked suddenly. The worry was still in her eyes, but Kate realized it was directed at her. "Dad said that you were pushed off the fire escape."
Four sets of eyes were now on her, all assessing. Kate was too surprised by this turn of events to reply. She'd expected Alexis' resentment, even hostility, not her concern.
"She has superpowers," Castle whispered not-so-subtly. "Bet she didn't feel a thing."
Esposito snorted. Ryan grinned. Alexis, however, was not so easily placated.
"I'm fine," Kate assured her. "Besides getting the wind knocked out of me, there was no damage." Alexis didn't look convinced. "I promise."
"Did the doctors take a look?" she insisted.
Kate knew very well that Ryan and Esposito would never ask her such a question, and though Castle would, she could deflect him. She knew equally well – based on what she'd learned about Alexis through Castle's anecdotes – that his daughter dealt with emotional upheaval by channeling her anxiety into empathy.
And Kate had not forgotten how terrified Alexis had looked last night.
"The paramedics took a look, Alexis," she replied, smiling warmly at Little Castle. "Over the counter painkillers and an ice pack are all I was prescribed."
"That's too bad," Castle said sympathetically. "I got the really good stuff. And a cool scar." He paused. "At least, I think it's cool. I can't see it yet because of all the bandages." He started lifting his robe to show Kate, but she quickly stopped him by grabbing his hands. Castle stilled abruptly and stared at her hands holding his.
She let go.
He looked up with a punch-drunk happy grin on his face, just staring moonily at her. Kate frowned. Apparently, he was on the really, really good stuff.
She realized that Esposito and Ryan were merrily looking from Castle to her, drawing all kinds of apparently enjoyable inferences from the way Castle was staring at her.
Kate didn't dare look at Alexis.
"Excuse me," Castle's doctor said, entering the room with blessedly perfect timing in Kate's opinion. "But I need a moment with the patient."
"The prison warden is here!" Castle exclaimed, turning away from Kate. Much to her relief.
"Good to see you, too, Mr. Castle." The doctor replied with a dry humour. Kate was quick to smother her grin, but Alexis caught her in the act. The redhead smiled tentatively at Kate, and then kissed Castle on the cheek.
"I'll be outside," she told him. "I promised Ashley I'd call with an update." She left the room, but not before casting a glance in Kate's direction.
Kate watched her go, not sure what to make of it.
"It was good to see you, bro," Esposito said.
"Feel better soon," Ryan added.
"Aw, you guys are leaving?" Castle's face fell comically.
"Hey," Esposito said, "if you hadn't fallen on a suspect armed with a knife, we might have had the afternoon off."
"We'll see you soon, Castle," Kate said, turning to follow Ryan and Esposito out. She wished she'd been able to spend a few moments alone with Castle, and at the same time she was relieved she hadn't.
"Come visit me soon!" He called after them as they exited the room. "And if I mysteriously disappear, the prison warden did it," he pointed at his doctor.
The doctor sighed, turning to look at Kate. "You may not believe me," he said, eyes sparkling, "but it's at times like this I think I don't get paid enough."
"You're telling me," Kate replied with a teasing glance in Castle's direction.
Once outside in the hallway, however, the three detectives were all business.
"How was your interview?" Esposito asked.
"She was definitely a few strokes short of an actual painting," Beckett said, netting matching nods of approval from Esposito and Ryan, "but she didn't do it. She and her husband alibi out. But Mrs. Perkins overheard Crombie and Fitzwilliam getting into an argument. It sounded like Crombie was being blackmailed. Which is funny, because Fitzwilliam didn't say a word about any argument when Castle and I first spoke with him."
"Crombie's assistant had no clue about the note we found. It had nothing to do with any of his projects," Ryan said.
"There's more," Esposito told them. "CSU called. They finished their second sweep of Crombie's studio. They found a trap door hidden under a stack of canvases. Inside the trap door, was a duffel bag full of cash." He paused, letting the thrill of the hunt sink in. Any detective worth their salt felt it in their bones when a set of leads fit so neatly together. "One hundred thousand in cash, to be precise."
Beckett looked from Ryan to Esposito. "One hundred thousand reasons for murder."