Lovely Rita, Meter Maid
Summary: What if Rita isn't who she says she is? I told myself I wasn't going to write a season 8 story but this idea just popped in my head.
Author's Notes: Thanks for the reviews, favs, and follows – all of you rock. Don't own Castle; just writing to mess with the characters. And yeah, I had already planned to how to write the opening scene before watching 'What Lies Beneath.' And I gave Danberg a promotion because I like him. And no, I don't hate Beckett; I may not agree with what's she's doing though since Castle's going to find out/figure it out anyway.
Chapter 4 Juxtaposition
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It was early the next morning when agent Costales arrived at the DEA headquarters in New York City, ready to confront the miscreant who had the audacity to try to outwit the DEA and smuggle illegal drugs into their "house" on his watch.
He had spent the trip going over the files in minutiae, preparing to challenge each lie, each alibi. And he was sure that spending the night in a cold room with only the bare essentials, along with the threat of never seeing the light of day again, would rattle Castle enough that he would roll on his companions in this illicit trade.
But when he walked into the director's office, much to his chagrin, he found that Castle wasn't in a holding cell but sitting there, looking refreshed, having coffee and pastries, and laughing at a joke that the DEA Deputy Administrator Straham had just told. Milton Miles, NY DEA Director, and two other men in severe dark suits sat at the table, also chuckling at the joke.
Straham looked up at him. "Good morning, Agent Costales. I trust you had a good flight."
"Yes, sir, Mr. Straham," Costales said, clearly confused. "I didn't know you'd be here."
"This situation warranted my personal attention," the man said simply.
"Yes, sir," responded Costales, frowning. "But, sir, what's going on? I thought that Mr. Castle would be in a holding cell given the evidence we have against him."
"Ah, yes, about that," Straham replied. "New information has come to light that clears Mr. Castle, thanks to Deputy Director Danberg of the CIA."
"But, sir, we have his fingerprints on a shipment of confiscated drugs – a major shipment with a street value of more than $5 million," Costales protested.
"And there is an explanation, but it's classified," Straham said. "Let's just say that we formally dropped all charges against Mr. Castle last night and thanked him for his service."
"But I wasn't told that the charges had been dropped," Costales said, frowning, now even more confused. "Sir, if they were dropped last night, then why am I here?"
Straham's demeanor changed abruptly to less than friendly, more like the pit bull that he resembled. "Answer one question for me, Agent Costales – who did you call yesterday to tell them about taking Mr. Castle into custody?"
"Senior Agent Anita Carlson, here in New York," Costales replied.
"And who told you to call?" asked Straham.
"Regional director Adrian Mendez," Costales said, not sure where the questioning was going. "It was his standing order to give the other regions a heads-up when we were arresting someone in their jurisdiction. He had a list of contacts in each region."
Straham looked at Danberg who nodded slightly. "That checks."
Straham looked back at Costales. "Agent Costales, thank you for your time, but we have the situation in hand. We've taken the liberty to book you on the 2 pm flight back to LA." He fixed the agent with a piercing stare. "And let me remind you that this meeting is classified and to not to discuss it with anyone. Stella will see you out."
The door to Director Miles' office opened and a young woman in a tailored suit stepped in, waiting with a pleasant smile on her face.
"Yes, sir," said Costales, glancing at Stella and then back at the men sitting at the table before walking out of the room.
"Well, gentlemen, it's truly been a lovely morning," said Castle as he stood and then looked at Danberg. "But now could we go get my daughter and bust my wife out of the slammer?"
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Unlike Castle's more-pleasant treatment after Danberg arrived to clear him, Beckett had spent a tense night in a cell in administrative segregation for her own protection because word had spread quickly that the mighty had fallen and she was being brought in.
Upon their arrest, she and Singh were put into separate squad cars, where she watched in dismay as CSU walked into the building, ready to box up and remove all of the equipment in their 'lair,' storing it as evidence.
Because of the special circumstances, they were immediately taken to the Central Booking, rather than the precinct or a federal courthouse for the initial interview. IA would be handling that in the morning.
After arriving at Central Booking, Beckett's identify was verified and she was fingerprinted and photographed and then handcuffed. A female police officer searched her and then gave her an orange jump suit to change into, along with paper slippers. Her clothes and shoes were put in a large plastic bag to be used as evidence.
"Please," Beckett asked softly, "can you tell me what happened to my husband?"
"Remove your jewelry and place it in this bag," was the only thing the officer said in response.
Beckett fought back tears as she slid her wedding ring off her finger and placed it in a small plastic bag, along with her father's watch and the necklace that held her mother's wedding ring. She then handed the bag to the police officer.
"This way," the officer said, directing her to a small cell with only a metal bench with a thin mattress and a toilet behind a small partition.
After Beckett walked in and the doors clanged shut, the officer told her to put her hands in the small opening so that she could remove the handcuffs.
Beckett spent the night alternately pacing the cell and sitting on the hard bench, jumping at the slightest noise. LOCKSAT had gotten to Bracken in solitary confinement – could they get to her also? And who would protect Rick then?
But worse, what had happened to him? Had they taken him? Was he still alive? Injured, lying in a hospital? Or bleeding out in some alleyway?
It was early the next morning when an officer came to take her for questioning, directing her to put her hands through the small opening in the door so that she could be handcuffed again.
The walk to the interrogation room was interminable, hostile even, based on the cold shoulder the officers were giving her.
As they walked down a long hallway, she saw Ryan, Espo, and Lanie sitting in separate rooms.
"I'm sorry," she mouthed when she caught Ryan's eye.
He quickly looked away, not meeting her eyes.
She was put in a room identical to the one she interrogated suspects in, her handcuffs attached to a ring on the top of the table when she sat down.
She wasn't sure how long she sat there, but finally the door opened and Captain Donovan, Chief of IA, and Victoria Gates walked in, both looking somber. Donovan carried a laptop with him and sat it down so that it faced her.
"Well, Ms. Beckett, it seems we are once again on opposite sides of the table," he said.
"Victoria, please," pleaded Beckett, looking at Gates, "please tell me what's happened to Rick?"
"Katherine Houghton Beckett, you have the right to remain silent…," Gates said as she read Beckett her Miranda rights.
Beckett waived her right to an attorney. What good what that do anyway? She couldn't tell them what was going on, what she was involved in.
"Let's make this simple," said Donovan. "You and current love interest have been accused of attempting to murder of your estranged husband Richard Edgar Castle and conspiring to bomb an airplane."
Beckett shook her head. "No, no. That's not true. I would never do anything to hurt Rick."
"Yet you left your husband the day after you met Singh?" Donovan asked.
"Yes, but we aren't in a personal relationship," Beckett said.
"But you're spending most of your nights with Singh," Donovan countered.
Beckett could only nod. To an outsider, it would look like they were having an affair.
"So to get your freedom, you had to get your husband out of the way. He dies when the airplane he's on explodes and suddenly, you're a widow, a very rich widow," Donovan stated. "Oh, that was rhetorical. We have proof."
Donovan stood and opened the door. The policeman standing outside handed him one of Castle's smaller suitcases and a plastic bag containing a device.
"Does this suitcase belong to Richard Castle?" he asked as he put it down in front of her.
Beckett nodded silently. It was one of Castle's favorites, old, worn, but with plenty of compartments to stuff items.
"This," he said as he put the plastic bag down in front of her also, "was found by the TSA screeners last night in this suitcase. It's a bomb, dismantled of course, but you were careless and left fingerprints on it. After all, if it had exploded, there would be no evidence left to connect to you to it."
"No, no – we didn't do that," Beckett said, shaking her head.
"We have copies of the receipts for the items used to make the bomb, all purchased by you and shipped to the address you were staying at," Donovan said. "We also have this, a video of you and Singh breaking into Richard Castle's loft Tuesday morning at 10 am to plant the bomb in his suitcase."
"Ms. Ellis confirmed that the date and time stamp are correct and that the tape has not been altered," interjected Gates.
Donovan looked at her. "So where were you last Tuesday morning at 10 am?"
Beckett paused, a sick feeling in her stomach – they had been doing exactly that, but it wasn't Castle's loft they had broken into. Singh had called her about 9 am to tell her that he had a lead on the unknown man. He was staying in corporate housing near the museum district.
She and Singh had gone there, dressed as deliverymen. The concierge had said the man wasn't in, so they left the package, and then entered through the back door using a fob that she had swiped while Singh was distracting the concierge.
Donovan started the video that showed them walking up to the door. Beckett knelt in front of the door to examine the lock and then smiled as she stood and slipped her key into the door.
Castle had once told her that there were only a limited number of combinations for a lock and that you could probably open 25% of the doors in NYC with his key since he had a commercially-made lock.
At the time, she felt lucky; now, she knew she had been set up.
As she unlocked the door and slowly opened it, Singh looked at her. "Are you sure you want to do this?" he asked.
Beckett replied, "Yes, let's give this bastard what he deserves."
Beckett could only stare as the video ended.
LOCKSAT had known what they were doing this entire time, where they were.
"So, think carefully before you say anything, Ms. Beckett. Planting a bomb on an airplane is an of terrorism and your next words can determine your fate," Donovan said sternly.
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AN – yes, if you buy a commercially produced lock, there is a good chance that someone has a key that will fit the lock because hardware stores carry only a limited quantity. Scary, isn't it?