A Fly in the Garden: Chapter 12
DISCLAIMER: None of these characters are mine, but they are memorable. Thank you, Mr. Marlowe.
Sunday, February 21, 2012 – 2:00 p.m. – At Richard Castle's Residence in Sausalito, California
They sit outside on the terrace where less than half an hour ago, Richard Castle and Kate Beckett stood with Sam Carlos, looking out over the bay waters in the distance. While initially thinking of taking the discussion to the den, Castle decides that the day is too beautiful outside – especially for February in Northern California.
A large bowl of fruit rests in the middle of the stone top table, surrounded by three filled-to-the-top wine glasses. A tall, recently opened bottle of Terra d'Oro moscato – now Kate's favorite – sits next to Castle as he glances over his laptop, regarding the two women seated with him.
Kate's eyes are fixated on the island in the distance, while Jennifer glances casually between the writer and his former muse. She notes that the two are completely different, and yet they seem to fall into place perfectly, a snug but comfortable fit. She wonders if such a thing could possibly exist for her, and for . . .
Her thoughts are interrupted by Castle's constant rapping on the table with his fingers, waiting for the next image to pop up.
"Castle!" Kate says, just a bit forcefully as she places her hand atop his to stop the incessant noise.
"Sorry," he smiles, and for just a moment, both are reliving a couple of years of history as she allows her fingers to mingle with his. Fortunately, the image is now on his laptop, as he turns the device toward the women so that all three have a good view.
"Let's play a game," Castle tells the women, eliciting a groan from Kate and a questioning look from Jennifer. "No really, this will be fun – and it will give us a few answers . . . or at least some possibilities."
"I take it you have done this before?" Blackard leans toward Kate, asking in a small voice.
"Many times," she smiles, replying softly. "Actually, quite a bit of good can come out of –"
"You do both know that I'm right here," Castle objects. Just as quickly, he ignores their responses and digs into his set of theories.
"This is the blueprint view of the island," he tells them, pointing to the laptop screen. "Notice that the coast guard is here," he continues, pointing toward the western part of the island. "I don't think anyone would risk the prying eyes here, so this is out. For me, if I were writing this story, we'd be looking at the east garrison right here," he says as he points to the eastern part of the island where the army used to hold fort.
"The promising thing about the garrison," Jennifer begins as she takes a sip of wine, "Is that it has a number of buildings here . . . and here." She points to the garrison, and reaches over the table for the laptop.
"Do you mind?" she asks.
"Not at all," Castle tells her, pushing the laptop toward the detective. Jennifer quickly punches in new search parameters, and smiles as she clicks on the images tab. Seconds later, a number of white to yellow buildings with orange-terracotta tiles along the rooftops.
"These are the old officer's quarters of the old Camp Reynolds. The Army changed the name to Fort McDowell in the early 1900's," Blackard continues, giving them a bit of old San Francisco history.
"As we have already discussed, the island has a military history dating back to civil war days. Just north of the barracks is the old immigration center, where immigrants were processed as they came into the country. In the late forties and early fifties, this side of the island was also used to processing returning soldiers from the war in the Pacific," she continues.
"These buildings are vacant now?" Kate asks.
"For the most part, yes," Jennifer tells them. "There have been some efforts towards restoration, but there are no businesses or people living there in the old garrison now."
"Silence of the Lambs," Castle muses aloud, glancing at the images, a story formulating in his mind. "Can you see it?"
"What?" Kate asks. "You think there is some cannibalistic serial killer out there?"
"Of course not," Castle tells her with a smirk. "I'm talking about scenery, setting. I am thinking about the story."
He takes the laptop back from Jennifer, pointing at the images of the old buildings on the island.
"I'm trying to put this all together," he tells them. "What's the story? First of all, putting the setting out on the island could open up some kind of role play. Old army barracks? Isolation? I could do things with that," he tells them, his author's mind racing to life.
"If you are going to force people out on a boat, with a ride across the bay – and Kate," he continues, glancing at his partner, "no matter what time of the year it is, that is a cold, cold ride in the middle of the night," he tells her, receiving a knowing nod of the head from Jennifer.
"So if you are forcing people out into open water for a frigid boat ride, to an old, basically abandoned island, you'd better be providing them with a memorable experience," Jennifer adds.
"And that goes beyond just providing some hot young woman," Kate agrees. "They already have that back at the city. They are already are leaving that market . . . benefit . . . to come here," she says, tapping the screen.
"And blondes," Castle continues. "They've only taken blondes. You have to ask why? These barracks haven't been in use since when – the 40's? 50's?"
Jennifer nods, now warming up to Castle's musings.
"So think cells in a basement, where the women are kept – that's what I meant by the Silence of the Lambs reference – while upstairs, they have recreated some 1940's or 1950's set," he says excitedly.
"Makes you wonder if the clients who go there go dressed for the part," Kate wonders aloud.
"Or if they change into costume once there," Jennifer adds.
"And the blondes?" Castle interrupts. "If we are talking about the 1940's or 1950's, think of Jean Harlow, Lana Turner, Gene Tierney, and early Marilyn Monroe. What if they are out there recreating an entire time period, complete with a late night boat ride past Alcatraz to throw people back in time, setting the mood perfectly. And then the women they . . . partake of . . . are dressed in period, in costume, playing their role."
For a moment they are all silent before Jennifer breaks the silence.
"You sound as if you admire them," she says softly.
"I don't admire the people," he corrects, "but I do appreciate the imagery, I do admire the imagination." Noting the questioning look from the detective, he explains.
"I'm sorry, Detective, it's just the writer in me," he rationalizes. "But it helps me get out of the ordinary, out of the mundane, and into the minds of people who think differently, who are not normal. Because believe me, there is nothing normal, nothing ordinary, nothing unimaginative about what is going on here," he reminds them. "Whoever has done this has gone way, way, way out of the box. If we want to catch them, if we have any shot at all, we need to join them out of the box."
"That's if your story is anything close to what is actually happening," Jennifer throws out.
"Even if it isn't," Castle argues, "here is what we know – assuming the island is the destination. "A – the only way there is by boat or helicopter. Boat is more likely. Less visible."
Both women nod their heads, encouraging him to continue.
"B – there aren't any luxury hotels on the island," he says.
"Nothing even close," Jennifer offers. "Mostly camping stuff."
"So," Castle says, chuckling, "C - I can pretty much promise you that no powerful, socially-conscious people are leaving the plush confines of a bed in a luxury San Francisco hotel to suffer through a cold boat ride for a romp in a tent or some dusty cabin. The only way those old building are useful in this setting is –"
"Is if they have been converted to be props in a set, part of an imaginary world," Kate finishes for him. As outrageous as Castle's idea has sounded initially, it is actually sounding more and more plausible by the moment.
"So how do we test this theory?" Kate asks them. "You've already ruled out just storming the island – which by the way, I agree. We need a better plan than to just show up as tourists there," she offers with a loving punch to Castle's arm.
"And showing up at . . . what did you say his name was, Jennifer?" Castle asks.
"Baker. Eddie Baker," she replies.
"Right," he continues. "We know that showing up at Eddie Baker's place and demanding a look at his ledger isn't going to work. But somehow we need to find out who his missing clientele is."
"And indiscriminately asking questions will only put us in the crosshairs before we even realize what has happened," Kate adds.
"So . . . that means we have to go the covert route," Jennifer comments, now standing and getting a better look at the island in the distance. "We have to get inside Eddie's organization, or his office at a minimum. Eddie knows me, so I'm out."
"He has never met me, so –"
"You're a world famous author who has just gotten more press than the President of the United States in the past few months for what you have built out here," Jennifer interrupts. "You're out. He knows of you."
"He doesn't know me," Kate smiles.
"Oh no," Castle immediately interjects, himself now standing as well. "That's out of the question."
Kate Beckett's reply is simply a raised eyebrow, as she assesses her partner. They have been through far too many dangerous situations for him to start playing big brother now.
"I know I have only been out here for a couple of months, Rick," she begins, emphasizing his first name. She doesn't want to start anything here, but she also doesn't want Rick to forget who he is dealing with. Yes, they have begun something wonderful, something different. But she is still Kate Beckett, ex-detective of the NYPD, who has worked a decade of homicides, drugs, rapes, embezzlements. Eddie Baker may be a dangerous character, but he is long down near the bottom of the list of people who frighten Kate Beckett.
"Let's not forget that I do know how to go undercover, and I do know how to take care of myself," she tells him, and her eyes convey to him that this is a non-negotiating point.
"I love my life out here," she continues, "and I love you. But I'm not going to sit on the sidelines out here –"
"Nor do I want you to," he quickly tells her. "Look, I . . . we . . . I . . ."
He rubs his hand through his hair, and barely stifles a small chuckle. Laughing, he glances between the two women – neither of which is giving him any quarter. He's lost this battle before the first shot has been fired.
"Fine, you're right," he finally tells her, gaining a smile from both women, who fist bump one another, which draws a laugh from Castle.
"What's so funny?" Kate asks, although she is sensing where he is going.
"I just realized," Castle continues, chuckling, "I gave up Espo and Ryan for Beckett and Blackard."
"Do I want to know?" Jennifer asks.
"No," comes the reply from both Castle and Kate, together. They share a quick smile, before Castle gets down to the task at hand.
"So," he begins. "How do you propose we get Kate inside Eddie's organization? Or can we just sneak her into his building? I'm assuming you know where he works, where he lives."
"I do," Jennifer replies.
"I suppose Carlos is not an option here," Castle asks.
"Sam's scorched earth methods are not my first choice for this project, no," Jennifer replies with a smirk of her own. No, Sam Carlos is a chip she wants to save for later down the road.
"Anyway, I don't want to waste a favor with Sam over Eddie Baker," she tells them. "I have a feeling we are going to need a bigger favor down the line, once we actually find out who some of these clients are. They won't roll over politely, I promise you that."
"You're probably right about that," Kate agrees, and Castle finds himself nodding in agreement.
"So we are left with inserting Kate, putting her on the inside," he says.
"Nothing so secretive," Jennifer laughs. "Kate is a private investigator, which allows her certain . . . privileges, certain . . . leeway that I am not disposed to."
"I do like how you think," Castle smiles.
"We will need a diversion of some type," Kate begins, now formulating a plan of her own. "I can't just waltz in and take a look around. We need something to keep Baker, or whoever he has in the building, occupied."
At that moment, the patio door opens, as young Alexis Castle sticks her head through the doorway.
"Hey dad, just letting you know I'm home and – oh, I'm sorry, I didn't know you and Kate had company."
"Hey pumpkin," Castle smiles, his eyes brightening as always at the sight of the now eighteen year-old woman he still considers to be his 'little girl'.
"Speaking of diversions," Jennifer muses under her breath, a plan of her own now formulating in her head.
"No fucking way," Castle responds, giving a stone glare to the San Francisco detective.
"Dad!" Alexis questions with a slight bit of alarm. It's been years and years since . . . scratch that - she has never heard that word escape her father's lips.
"Sorry, pumpkin," he apologizes quickly to the beautiful young redhead in the doorway, then looks toward the other women when Alexis speaks up again.
"Wait a second," the young girl asks as she glances between the two women on the terrace. "What are you trying to protect me from now, Dad?"