Forty-Seven: Chapter 12
DISCLAIMER: None of these characters are mine, but they are memorable. Thank you, Mr. Marlowe.
Tuesday, March 27, 2012 – Now 7:00 p.m. back at the 12th Precinct
The clear spring day is starting to give way to the evening, yet the group sitting in the bullpen at the 12th Precinct shows no sign of packing it in for the day. It's been a long day, for certain. The bomber in the plaza case has been caught, but there have been no celebrations, no high fives, nothing of the sort.
Instead, for the majority of the people here – Captain Gates, Detectives Beckett, Esposito and Ryan – today's victory has been tempered by the realization that far more nefarious forces than those that raised their heads in the plaza bombing are climbing from behind their rocks again. And every time these people have reared their heads in the past, a deadly carnage has followed.
For Kate Beckett, however, it is not only her mother's case that – once again – has reared its head. No, that should be enough in itself, but it is compounded by her now completely undefinable relationship with Richard Castle.
On one hand, she considers them estranged. They are distant, they are reluctant, and they are tentative.
On the other hand, they share an intimacy they have never had. Hands held, words spoken, a closeness held fast to.
It is a dichotomy, an irony that leaves her empty, yet hopeful.
In the silence that sits atop the atmosphere in the bullpen, she hears the elevator ding, and seconds later the man in question himself walks through the doors. When he left, he looked pensive and concerned. Now, as he walks back? If anything, those feelings have intensified.
She can't help but smile as she sees the two cups of coffee in his hands . . . yes, at seven o'clock at night. He doesn't say a word as he offers one to her. She hopes that he sees and understands her unsaid feelings with the smile she gives him.
"Thanks, Castle," she manages through the smile.
He simply nods his head, and gazes at the others sitting in the bullpen with her as he drops into his designated chair. No one has said anything, so that means Lanie hasn't come back with anything. Otherwise he'd have known. Someone would have called, or texted. But more than anything else, everyone here – including Captain Gates who is curiously sitting, legs crossed atop a desk with her team, instead of in her office – everyone here has that "what is taking so long for the results' look plastered on their faces.
A minute passes before Kate finally breaks the silence.
"Where'd you go, Castle?" she asks. All heads turn to the novelist in the room.
"I went to have a talk with Bob," he replies, staring down at his feet as he sits cross-legged in the chair.
"Bob . . . our mayor Bob?" she asks.
"Yep," he says with a slight nod, and a single-word reply.
Okay, so he isn't in a talkative mood. That's a problem. Because no matter what, no matter if someone has died, this man talks. Sitting in a freezer, dying, this man talks. Walking into an apartment blown to bits wondering if she were alive, this man talks. His silence screams louder than any words ever could.
"Okay, Castle," Esposito chimes in. "What gives? This isn't you."
Castle manages a grim smile, one that actually sends a series of shudders down Kate Beckett's spine. His next words put an extra tingle in those shudders.
"Have you ever had one of those epiphanies, where you begin to see things clearly for the first time?" Castle begins, causing Kate to frown. "One of those life-altering moments where you realize that everything you believed was backwards. Everything you thought was true was simply a mirage?"
The blank stares that follow would normally send a few chuckles through Castle. But not today . . . not tonight.
"Long story short, Bob and I put a few things together," Castle continues after a few seconds. "Remember a few months ago how he was framed – for both embezzlement and murder," he reminds them, as heads nod quickly. The guilt that crosses the features of both Kate and their captain cannot be hidden.
"All this time, I thought that Mr. Smith – the gentleman I told you about earlier – all this time I thought that he was the one who intervened and saved the mayor – for his own selfish purposes of course. Today, however, Bob and I put the pieces together – finally – and now I realize that Mr. Smith wasn't the one who stepped in and saved Bob . . . Smith is the one who put Bob's problems in motion in the first place."
Widening eyes greet this news, and Gates is the first to speak up.
"That's . . . that's an interesting theory, Mr. Castle," she says. "Where is your evidence?"
"More of a gut feel," he replies with a weak smile. "I just realized that Smith knew things, said things to me that he could not have possibly known . . . unless he were somehow in on the frame-up." He tells them about his conversation with Smith in the garage all those months ago, where Smith told him to listen to the evidence – not to follow the evidence – but to listen to the evidence.
Meaning, he already knew about the audio taped conversation that eventually cost poor Laura Cambridge her life. But he should not have known about it, unless he were behind the whole scenario.
Before he can finish, the elevator dings again, and all heads whip toward the offending sound in unison. The door opens and Lanie Parrish walks slowly toward the team. The expression on her face pounds an immediate sense of dread into the people in the bullpen.
"This doesn't look good," Esposito comments under his breath.
Kevin Ryan laughs. "Is that your professional opinion or the opinion of one who has –"
"It's so important you don't finish that sentence, bro," Esposito interrupts. It's their typical funny bantering, but tonight – as the medical examiner approaches – well, nothing is funny tonight.
"Lanie?" Beckett asks softly.
Lanie looks her good friend sharply in the eyes, her gaze not wavering. Yeah, she is giving this update to the entire team. But this information belongs to Kate.
"I ran the DNA we found under Evelyn's fingertips," she begins. "There were no matches in our criminal database, no matches in the federal databases."
"So it's a newbie," Esposito postulates.
"Not exactly, Javi," she replies softly, only now taking her gaze away from Beckett to land on her on-again and off-again lover. It's only for a second or two, and then her eyes return to Kate.
"There was one match, however," she continues. "It matched an unsolved case here in New York . . . here in this precinct."
The hairs on Castles neck literally feel like they are standing at attention. Captain Gates uncrosses her legs and stands now, brushing the lint off of her skirt. She, too, has a feeling where this is going. She hopes she is wrong. The universe couldn't be this cruel.
"It matched a case from last summer," Lanie finally tells the team, still looking firmly at her friend's eyes.
"I'm so sorry Kate. The DNA matches that of the shooter last summer. In the cemetery. Your shooter."
The lid from the coffee cup separates noisily from the cup as it leaves Kate Beckett's hands, and connects with the floor, washing the floor anew with the hot liquid.