A/N: Things are starting to heat up case wise in this story. Are you all missing out on pure Caskett scenes? Don't worry, they are coming up soon! Again, please review and let me know what you liked and what didn't really work. I'm always looking to improve.
Also, how cold did it get where you all live? It was -17 here! Windchill -42! What a perfect excuse for a Castle marathon!
Her team gathered in a tight huddle a few doors down from Club Couture, silent and attentive as they waited for her orders. Detective Davis, vetted upon their return to the precinct, sulked, shuffling his shoes through the slush that had accumulated from the overnight snowfall. As a man more accustomed to taking the lead, assembling the troops, deferring to no one, his demotion to second in charge, behind Beckett, had left him looking forlorn. In the chain of command, though, a murder investigation trumped a drug bust.
With a few strategically placed calls from Castle, Beckett had procured the search warrant a lot faster than normal procedure allowed, especially considering Daniel Henry was part of the whose who of New York City. Normally people of his status have enough connections to the legal system, she imagined judges and county clerks dangling from strings, marionettes dancing at will, that she would be hard pressed to find someone willing to not only sign the warrant but sign it within the hour. But then she learned long ago never to underestimate the persuasive power of Castle's charm and smooth talking.
"Detective Davis," his head snapped up at Beckett's voice. "Now that we're all here can you brief us on what you know?" She needed her team to all be on the same page, but more than that, she needed the narcotics detective to stop moping and get his head in the game. Davis appeared pleased to be taking the helm and he shifted seamlessly back into the professional, detached demeanor he exhibited in the morgue.
"We've been monitoring Mr. Henry's activity for about the last two months after receiving evidence that he was involved in trafficking cocaine."
"What sort of evidence?" Esposito asked, breaking the flow of his narration and eliciting a disapproving look from Davis.
"I'm getting there, Detective Esposito," he retorted.
Beckett internally flinched, hoping Esposito could keep his ego in check, even though she, herself, wanted to punch Davis and his haughty attitude right in the face.
Davis continued, "An anonymous source initially informed us via e-mail that drugs were present in the club. We sat on that information for a while, trying to determine the identity of the anonymous source when video footage clearly displaying the drugs in a hidden backroom locker came in. We were never able to ID the source nor how he or she obtained the footage, but it was enough to instigate an investigation." He covered his team's inability to implicate Daniel Henry in anything beyond possession and their involvement with Caitlyn.
"That explains a lot of Caitlyn's unusual behavior then," Ryan pointed out.
"Yes, although it doesn't explain her falling of the grid the couple days before her murder. We were actually surprised to learn she showed up at the club that night since she never checked in to confirm the surveillance duty or get wired up," Davis added.
"Okay so here's the plan," Beckett said, eyes jumping to each member of her team. She had shown up, search warrant in hand, at many unsuspecting people's places of business before, but it didn't mean the fear ever went away—it didn't mean her adrenaline didn't start coursing as worst-case scenarios and tactics ran through her mind. She just had learned to channel that fear into focus; she had learned to use it to sharpen her senses. "Espo, Ryan, Davis, and I will perform the initial search, focusing on that backroom locker during our initial sweep. Officer Hastings," she nodded to the young woman, glad to have a trusted and reliable officer on the assignment, "you're covering Mr. Henry. We have confirmation that he is in the building so make sure he doesn't try to pull anything once he realizes what we are here for. Officers," the three other uniformed men leaned in close, "I want one of you on the back door in case anyone, and I mean anyone, tries to run. Someone else take the front and then whoever is left has crowd control. Not that I expect this place to be hopping at four in the afternoon."
"Ahem," Castle raised his hand, "you forgot about me."
"Just stand there and look pretty," Beckett teased. "And don't touch anything." The officers in the huddle snickered, and Castle was about to protest when a muffled bang, almost like a car backfiring a few blocks over, rang out from inside the club. Smiles fell from the team member's faces as, one by one, they placed the familiar noise—a gun firing.
Esposito pulled his radio off his belt. "This is Detective Javier Esposito at four-one-six Broome, reporting a ten-ten, requesting backup." He holstered the radio and drew his gun, his eyes on Beckett waiting for instructions.
Beckett drew a single, deep breathe. She tried to keep her voice as calm as possible, dropping it an octave as she gave instructions for the four officers to head to the rear while her team of four, five counting Castle, positioned themselves outside the front entrance. Flashes from the previous night's visit—the aggressive reporters, the blinding camera lights—played out in her mind, but unlike that night, she was now in her element; she wouldn't freeze—she couldn't freeze.
Esposito and Ryan stationed themselves on the opposite side of the door, ready to spring into action on her count. Beckett silently motioned orders to them, and with a count of three the detectives pushed through, weapons aimed at each of the walls—a carefully choreographed dance that could easily turn deadly.
Inside the club was dim. Beams of mood lighting streamed down on each of the booths, but the flashy, strobing lights over the dance floor were hidden behind a curtain of black material. Beckett took less than a second to survey the room, noting only a single group of terrified looking patrons squatting below the table of one of the corner booths. She held up a reassuring hand and flashed her badge. A middle-aged man in a tweed suit pointed toward the bar where a door leading to the backroom, kitchen, and supply closet stood.
Esposito cut a path around the perimeter of the room in order to avoid walking into the direct line of sight of the small round window cut into the door. Beckett and Ryan followed, each hugging the line of booths with their backs. Castle, who would normally be primed to go, hung back with the patrons, and Davis followed suit. He knew the last thing Beckett would want is a potential witness bolting before she could get a statement.
Except for the sound of her own heart thudding against her ribs, Beckett couldn't hear any other telltale noises coming from behind the door. Each of the detectives waited a few seconds, ears pressed to the walls, listening. They all understood the importance of taking swift action, but even more important than running head first into the unknown was taking a few seconds to wait, listen, and gather as much information as possible about what they would be facing. The silence on the other end told them very little.
Ryan cautiously peaked into the circle window, gun held at the ready, but ducked back down with little more than the layout of the hallway to go on. Not willing to wait any longer, Beckett did a quiet three-count and lunged at the door, pushing it open with her shoulder. The metal handle clinked loudly as it smashed into the wall, sending an echo down the eerily quiet hall.
With the hallway cleared, Ryan and Esposito broke off from their formation, each heading toward one of two rooms on the right. That left a single room on the left at the very end of the hallway. Beckett inched forward, tip-toeing cautiously so that her presence would remain unknown up until the very last moment. A sliver of white light cutting across the linoleum floor caught her attention, and she noticed that the back door was propped open about an inch by a wooden wedge. Had her team placed that there? She'd have to figure that out later.
About a foot from the room still, she heard a low grumble. Feeling as ready as she ever would be, Beckett launched herself into the room, her gun pointed steadily into the center of the space.
"NYPD," she shouted as her gaze jumped wildly from corner to corner. She half expected to come face to face with the barrel of another gun, maybe a high kick to the head as the assailant made a mad dash toward the exit. She wasn't prepared for what she did see.
Laying in the middle of the floor, a pool of thick, red blood seeping into the cracks of the tile around his abdomen was Daniel Henry. Beckett rushed forward, screaming for Esposito and Ryan to join her. She grabbed a jacket hanging on a coat rack and pressed in into his side, desperately trying to stop the flow of blood. Her pressure just sent out a fresh gush of red.
Daniel's eyes stared at her, glassy and unfocused—looking but not really seeing. His face was starting to turn ashen as the blood pooled into his core. He reached out and gripped her wrist with a surprising strength. Behind her, Beckett could hear Esposito on the radio calling in the incident; she could hear Ryan alerting the other officers in the back alley, and she could feel Castle behind her, a comforting hand on her shoulder.
Time sped up, slowed down, reversed, and turn back on itself. Had it been minutes or hours? She couldn't tell. The smell of blood, the hot, sticky liquid coating her hands was disorienting. Daniel's vice grip tightened, and he struggled to lift his head off the tile, his lips inching closer to her head.
"Mr. Henry," she said, her voice sounding gravelly and foreign. "Who did this Mr. Henry? What happened?" Daniel whispered, his breathy words getting lost in the commotion occurring behind them. He tried to clear his throat, but it left him wheezing, a low gurgle bubbling up from his chest.
Beckett leaned in closer until her ear was almost touching his face. "Tell her I didn't know," he muttered.
"Tell who, Mr. Henry?"
"I wouldn't have left."
"Mr. Henry, I don't understand."
"Please." He gasped, but his lungs were faltering, his chest tightening. Beckett watched as his head lopped back, his hand becoming stone-like around her wrist. She reached one hand up to his neck, pressing her fingers where a pulse should be, knowing she would find none.
Beckett released the pressure on his side and fell back on her heals, the weight of her body resting against Castle. She heard the sound of sirens, foggy and distant. The part of her that was all too human—the part that felt too deeply for each of her victims—wanted to sit there, enveloped in silence while the commotion played out around her, while Daniel Henry's blood dripped from her fingertips, but her instincts kicked in and she sprung up.
"Officer Hastings," she shouted toward the back exit. Hastings didn't answer.
"Detective Beckett," another officer shouted back, the urgency cutting through his voice. Beckett catapulted herself toward the back door. "Hastings is in pursuit of a possible suspect." The officer said into his radio, "target is heading north on Lafayette. Repeat target is heading north on Lafayette." He turned to Beckett, "patrol cars are in the vicinity and should be able to cut him off."
Knowing how easy it was for a suspect to disappear into a throng of pedestrians or duck into one of the many small shops lining the street, Beckett didn't want to sit idle. She took off running, turning down a one-way street that ran diagonally toward Lafayette, hoping that if she ran fast enough she could intercept the suspect. Her lungs burned as she sucked in the cold air, compelling her legs to move faster. She could hear steady footfalls behind her and guessed that either Ryan or Esposito weren't far behind. When she turned the corner, she saw Hastings sprint toward and enter a deli on the opposite side of the street. Beckett followed.
Opening the front door, she immediately had to duck to avoid being sideswiped by a large cold cut platter that came hurtling in her direction. The suspect stood behind the deli counter, a block of cheese in one hand and a three pound turkey in the other. His eyes nervously jumped from Beckett to Hastings, fixed on the two guns pointed directly at him. Unless saturated fats counted as a weapon, he didn't appear armed.
"NYPD." shouted Hastings. "Come out from behind the counter. Put your hands where I can see them." Beckett took a couple tentative steps toward the counter. Before she could get close enough, an employee, oblivious to the chaos occurring in the front of the shop, poked his head out of the kitchen, shouting that he was going to take his break. The suspect used the distraction to bolt toward the back, pushing the confused staff member out of the way.
Beckett and Hastings followed, running through the kitchen area where dish washers and prep cooks stumbled out of the way issuing a string of profanities in their wake. "NYPD. Stop or I'll shoot," Beckett yelled after him, knowing it was an empty promise when there were so many innocent people who could get in the way. The suspect pushed through the back door, and Beckett feared they were about to lose him again. Five steps behind him, she caught the door just before it could click shut and flung it open.
"Castle," she said, coming to an abrupt stop as Officer Hastings nearly crashed into her back. Castle was perched on top of the suspect, wrangling the man's arms behind his back, a surprised but pleased grin on his face.
"Now you didn't think I'd just sit back and miss out on all the fun, did you?"
"How?...Where?..." Beckett stammered.
"The more important question is why. The answer, because I'm super duper awesome." Beckett wanted to come back with a quip of her own, but she had to admit, Castle showing up at just the right time and place was, for lack of a better expression, super duper awesome.
Their pinned suspect piped up, "Shit man, you ain't awesome. You abusive. You crushin' my ribs." Castle loosened his grip and Beckett signaled for Officer Hastings to cuff the guy, realizing she still had smears of blood covering her hands.
"Well, now I'm going to crush your spirits when I tell you that you are under arrest," Castle replied.
"What were you doing running down that alleyway?" Beckett asked, plucking his wallet from his jacket pocket.
"Running? Was I running? That was more like a casual jog. You know, get my heart rate up. Diabetes runs in my family after all." Beckett was not amused.
"Okay," she looked down at his driver's license, "Mr. Snyder," she leaned toward him, close enough to see his pupils dilate. "Easier question—why were you in that alleyway to begin with?"
"Jeez lady, so many questions. You know stress isn't good for my heart. High blood pressure—"
"Let me guess," Castle interrupted, "runs in your family."
"Exactly. Doctor said I got to take it easy. Meditate or some new-agey shit like that."
"Well then you'll have plenty of time to meditate when you spend the night down at the precinct," Beckett threatened. Mr. Snyder didn't seem too concerned but he talked anyway.
"Okay look, I work for a courier service. I was making a delivery when your guys, and lady, come chargin' down the alley. Guns blazin'. Lookin all stealth commando like. I tell myself, self, you in the wrong place at the wrong time, and I took off runnin'."
"And why didn't you stop when you saw you were being pursued?" Castle pressed.
"Let's just say I've been in enough cat and mouse scenarios that I've learned you always run and keep runnin'."
Beckett could hear the NYPD patrol car sirens approaching, and she sent Hastings to flag it down. Trusting that the officer could get their suspect back to the precinct without anymore mishaps, she loaded him in the back of the cruiser and began the trek back toward Club Couture. She would handle Mr. Snyder later, for now, she had a new crime scene to get back to.
"Hey, you okay?" Castle asked. He had succumbed to the silence for nearly the entire walk back, but the look of anguish on Kate's face was heartbreaking. She let out a weak, half-laugh.
"Am I okay?" she spit out, sounding angry. "Shouldn't I be asking you that question. He was your old friend after all." In the long pause that followed Beckett reached out, and grabbed Castle's hand, intertwining her fingers through his. "I'm sorry. I'm so angry about how this is all turning out, and I took it out on you."
Castle stopped and grabbed her shoulders, turning her body to face his. "Hey, it's okay. I'm angry too. Angry that Daniel lost his life. Angry that Caitlyn lost hers. Angry that people do bad things to one another to begin with."
"Angry that I wasn't able to stop it," Beckett added, her voice weak.
Castle saw the tears building behind her eyes. He saw the blame, the guilt, the sadness. He saw the weight of the world that she carried around with her on a daily basis. "Angry that you feel like you should be able to stop it. This is not on you, Kate."
"Isn't it? Here I was pegging Daniel for being involved somehow when I should have been protecting him." Castle pulled her in close, surrounding her with his arms to block the wind swirling down the alley.
"You do so much good. More than most. You can't let yourself be defined by the bad things that happen."
"Yes, but…"
"Yes, but nothing. Kate, let me ask you this. When you look back on our relationship, what do you think of first? The fights. The days spent not talking. The missed opportunities. Or do you think of the sweet moments we've shared? Our trip to the Hamptons. The Birthday surprise party you threw for me. The day I asked you to marry me." He waited, hoping the message was sinking in.
"I remember the good."
"And that's my point, no matter what bad things happen, the good will always shine through. The good always outweighs the bad. What you do is no different."
Beckett wiped her eyes, clearing the build up of tears just as the ambulance, siren off, pulled past them and came to a stop outside the back entrance of the club. She let go of Castle's hand and followed after, mentally preparing herself to try and look at the crime scene with fresh eyes. Daniel Henry's blood, now crusted onto her hands and under her nails, wasn't going to make it easy.