Forty-Seven: Chapter 13
DISCLAIMER: None of these characters are mine, but they are memorable. Thank you, Mr. Marlowe.
Tuesday, March 27, 2012 – Now 7:12 p.m. back at the 12th Precinct
Richard Castle is on his knees with a few paper towels, along with Javier Esposito, cleaning up the spilled coffee that is soaking into the wood floor. Seconds later, Kevin Ryan comes back from the breakroom with more paper towels, having underestimated the first time. Lanie is sitting in Castle's chair, pulled around to Beckett's chair, her knees locked against a sitting Kate Beckett.
Captain Gates takes the scene in, her attention focused on her prized detective. A difficult day just became flat out ridiculous for her detective, she realizes. And as much as this is absolutely Kate's case, Gates once again considers whether or not she should be even near this case.
"She's involved whether you want her to be or not, Captain," Castle whispers into her ear, knowing what she is thinking. Damn the man, she didn't even notice him stand up and approach her. All of them are on edge and not on their toes at all. "They're coming for her, so she's on the case regardless."
Gates doesn't appreciate the intrusion, but she cannot fault the logic. Castle, of course, is absolutely correct. If they are after Detective Beckett, then taking her off the case probably makes her an easier target. Her IA background drives a constant mistrust in her thinking, and right now she isn't sure who she can trust – outside of this bullpen right now – with Kate Beckett's safety.
Finally, the floor clean and paper towels discarded, the team huddles around a now-recovering Kate Beckett, who is getting the spirit of the fight back.
"So," Kate begins, "what's our first step?" She is trying her best to hold it together, and truth be told, doing a decent job of it. Far better than Castle would have thought. For the past year, he has done all he can to keep her from her mother's case, and fate has been cooperative with his efforts. Up until now, that is. Whatever her mother's murderers have been up to during this time, at least they had been invisible.
Until now.
The news that the DNA of one of the thieves who broke into Roy Montgomery's home matches that of the person who shot Kate last year is the proverbial shot across the bow of the people in the bullpen. It touches them, it haunts them, and – pride aside – it frightens them. There are few things scarier than the faceless killer, who kills from a distance, who moves in and out with ease.
Ruthless. Cunning. Invisible. Undetectable.
Until now.
"Well," Lanie begins. "We don't know the identity of our perp, just that he . . . he has a history with us."
Kate stares at her friend for a few seconds, her eyes narrowing before she releases a breath she didn't realize was being held in check. Lanie means well, but things are changing rapidly in Kate's world, all around her. Changes that require a different response from her, a different mindset. Starting now.
"Don't mince words around me, Lanie," Kate tells the medical examiner, and then faces the room at large.
"That goes for everyone here," she continues. "Don't walk on eggshells around me, trying to protect me. Whoever this bastard is, he has already left his mark on me. We won't catch him by watching what we say and do around me."
She unknowingly touches her chest as she speaks, her fingers slipping between the folds of her blouse, finding her unasked for keepsake. It's a surreal moment that Castle notes with a slight nod of his head.
"Okay, fine," Lanie agrees with a small smile. "Our perp is an assassin. The same assassin that came after Kate last year. That's what the evidence shows."
"What the evidence doesn't show," Castle muses aloud, "is why such an assassin would allow Evelyn to live."
"Especially after Evelyn shot his partner," Esposito adds.
"Good luck or good fortune, we don't know which it is," Captain Gates interjects. "The bigger question is, who is this person? Why doesn't this person have a file at all, outside of last summer's attempt on Kate, here."
"What do you mean, Captain?" Kevin Ryan asks.
"I mean," Gates replies, "everything is computerized, everything is stored. A man with the talent's that we are seeing here doesn't just show up out of the blue. He should be in the database somewhere. He's been somewhere."
"Talents?" Kate asks, now showing a bit of confusion.
"Perhaps the wrong choice of words, Detective," Gates allows. "But whatever you want to call it – and you said no mincing words here – that was a hell of a shot that our perp put into you last summer. Long distance, facing into the sun, plenty of bystanders – and he gets you through the heart. All I'm saying is this isn't a weekend Johnny who just learned how to shoot a gun."
"Military," Esposito seethes. "Or ex-military. Good with sniping skills. Avoids getting shot when his partner gets killed. Easily dispatches his victims. Left no fingerprints, and had Evelyn not scratched him, we wouldn't even be talking about him . . . or her."
"Her?" Castle asks.
"Who knows," Esposito replies. "I know some women in the military who I don't want to mess with," he says with a half smirk, half-serious tone.
"All the more reason to ask why he isn't in the system," Gates continues. "If he is ex-military, and I tend to agree with Detective Esposito's hypothesis – then why isn't he in the system?"
"Whoever he is, if he broke into Roy's old house, then we have to be ready for anything," Castle adds. "We have to assume that he found whatever it is he was looking for."
Officer Garza picks this time to walk around the corner into the bullpen. He's carrying a small manila folder.
"I take it you were able to get the negative developed?" Gates asks the approaching officer.
"Yes, sir," he quickly replies. A few more steps and he hands the folder to the captain, who opens it, and stares at the photograph.
"I guess I'm not the one who should be looking at this," she says quickly. "None of these people are familiar to me." She hands the decades-old photograph to Beckett, who stares at the six or seven men captured in a moment of happiness at Roy Montgomery's wedding.
"Me either," she says dejectedly, but she senses Castle tensing up behind her.
"Castle?" she asks, turning her head to face him. She sees it in his eyes. Someone here is familiar to him.
"Which one?" she asks.
"Him," Castle tells her, pointing at a gentleman on the end. "He's younger, of course, but that's him." He says softly – almost too softly.
"Who?" Gates asks.
"Smith," Castle replies, his voice a bit stronger now, getting more firm with each word. "This is Mr. Smith, the man I told you about."
"You're sure, Castle?" Beckett asks, her heart racing.
"No coincidences," she thinks to herself.
"Positive," Castle replies quickly. "It's the same man. It makes sense. It makes sense that Roy would share such important information with someone he knew closely. This closely," he comments, tapping the picture with his finger.
For a few seconds, everyone in the room is quiet. Kevin Ryan breaks the silence.
"So this is the man who was having secret conversations with you, Castle," Ryan states, matter-of-factly.
"This is him," Castle confirms.
"This is the man who you made a deal with, who convinced you to keep me away from my mother's case," Kate says, emotion filling her voice, anger rising in her yet again. Before Castle can respond, Ryan rescues him.
"This is the man, Beckett, who convinced Castle to keep the wolves at bay from you for the past year. The man who is probably – along with Castle – responsible for you still being alive right now to even have this discussion."
Beckett opens her mouth to begin what is going to be an emotionally-sound but logically-lacking rebuttal. Esposito's interjections saves her.
"He's right, Beckett," Esposito begins. "You went away for what – two, three months? And when you get back, you're in no shape for serious work. Your PTSD almost broke you a couple of times. Remember the sniper case? And even today, you're still not completely out of the woods. I know you're pissed at Castle, but a 'thank you' while being pissed is probably okay, you know?"
She doesn't say anything for a moment, but the words ring true from both men, men she knows love her like a sister, who would do darn near anything for her. Neither has an ulterior motive, or hidden agenda. They simply speak the truth. She can only nod her head, and glance at Castle. Castle, however, continues to stare at the photograph, seemingly miles away.
"Castle?" she gets out, finally, but he doesn't respond.
"Mr. Castle," Gates adds, with a bit more emphasis. This works, as he turns to face the captain.
"This is obviously the man you met with," Gates continues. "You were telling us, before Ms. Parish here showed up, that you now believe this man is more than just a go-between."
"Yes," is Castle's one-word reply. He continues to stare at the picture for a few more seconds, then turns his attentions to Kate.
"You're in greater danger than we realized," he tells her, now that Gates has returned his train of thought to his meeting with Mayor Bob Weldon and their realization.
"Smith didn't just ask me to keep you away from your mother's case," he begins. "He is more than willing to take any step necessary to ensure you do so, whether it is late night phone calls to me . . . or framing our mayor for embezzlement, to framing him for murder . . . or even by actually murdering someone."
Suddenly, on a whim, Castle changes tactics.
"Kate, you have Evelyn's number, don't you?" he asks.
"Yes," she replies. "Why do you –"
He grabs the photograph, and takes out his phone. Okay, so this is an extra step, but he wants a copy of this picture for himself, as well. He snaps a picture, and hands the photograph back to Captain Gates. Smiling to himself, he sends the picture to Kate's phone. Seconds later, they all hear the ding from her phone, indicating an incoming text message.
"Send that picture to Evelyn," he tells her. "Right now, and ask her if she recognizes this guy. Don't tell her anything, though, Kate. Not his name, not who we think he might be. Just ask her if she knows him."
Normally Kate would have a few questions for Castle – it's just their way. But something about his tone, something about today causes her to scroll through her contact list. Seconds later, she is on the phone with Roy Montgomery's widow.
"Evelyn, it's Kate," she begins. "No, no, everything is fine - - -
"Yes, we got the picture developed. That's why I am calling you. I'm getting ready to send the picture to you - - - "
"Yes, to your phone, yes - - - Well, that's just it. We want to know if you recognize someone. It will be the last man on the right - - -
"Yes, Evelyn - - - it's on the way now."
A few seconds pass, then a few more. Then half a minute, before Evelyn starts talking again. Kate can tell that she is on speakerphone as she views the image. She immediately realizes that everyone else here needs to hear, firsthand, what Roy's ex-wife says, and puts the call on her speakerphone as well.
"That's Michael Smith," Evelyn tells her – and by extension, everyone in the bullpen huddled around the Kate's cell phone.
"Excuse me?" Castle says, incredulously. "His name really is Smith?"
"Yes, it is," Evelyn asks. "Why do you ask, Rick? Do you know him, also?"
"Not important right now," he tells her, recovering. It's amazing, and yet, he realizes, actually brilliant. He's learned from his writing discoveries that often, the easiest way of hiding is not behind a lie, but instead, behind the truth. Smith is such a common name that by simply giving his real last name, Smith all but ensured that Castle immediately discounted the name as a real possibility.
"What can you tell us about him?" Castle asks, continuing the discussion.
"Mike and Roy were old friends from college," Evelyn answers as the team huddles closer around Kate, who holds her phone out for everyone to hear.
"Mike came from money, while Roy did not," she continues. "Last I know, Mie was working for some attorney firm. Pennington and something or other."
Kevin Ryan immediately jogs back to his desk, plopping down in the seat in front of his computer, doing a search on law firms in the city or state beginning with Pennington.
"Mike and Melinda live in Connecticut – at least they used to, as far as I know. Didn't come to Roy's funeral though," Evelyn says and they all hear the raw emotion, the disappointment in her voice as she tells them this bit of news.
"Makes sense" Castle whispers to a few puzzled faces. Smith was too busy breaking into Roy's house.
"Do you have his address, Evelyn?" Kate asks.
"Sure do," Evelyn replies quickly. "Give me a second."
"Got it," they hear Kevin Ryan exclaim over at his desk. All of the heads turn.
"Pennington, Parker and Clark, in the city. Also has offices in Connecticut," Ryan tells the team. Another piece to the puzzle falls into place, as Evelyn comes back and gives them the address.
"Thanks Evelyn," Kate says in closing. "We'll be in touch."
She signs off, and glances at the team.
"I guess we're going to Connecticut," Esposito smiles, and Kate manages a small smile as well.
Still Tuesday, March 27, 2012 – Now 9:09 p.m., in Stamford, Connecticut
"There's his house," Castle says, pointing at the large two-story home up the street on the left. Old style homes line the street. They come from money. Old money.
"Finally," Esposito states from the back seat. Everyone is on edge. Traffic was a bear from the city, it is late, it has been a long day and everyone is feeling it now.
"I still say this could have waited until tomorrow morning," Esposito continues. He's been griping for the last twenty minutes of the trip, and by now everyone is ignoring him. They know it's just his way of releasing tension.
Kate Beckett stops the car, and Kevin Ryan and Javier Esposito take out their weapons as they all exit the car, four houses away from Smith's home. They hide them along their side, hoping no one is watching out their windows.
"You sure that this is necessary, Castle?" Kate asks, still unsure.
"Smith is a dangerous man, Kate," he tells her. "He framed Bob, and trust me, he killed Linda Cambridge. Everyone is dying except two people – you and Smith. You - I trust. Him, I don't any longer. He is willing to do anything right now. He's cornered. That makes him dangerous."
She can't argue with anything he says. He's learned well over the past four years. The three detectives plus Castle arrive at the home and Castle walks up the six steps to the front door. Kate is behind him, while Esposito walks around the right side of the house to the back yard. Kevin Ryan heads to the back yard around the left side of the house.
Castle rings the doorbell. He glances back at Kate, who gives him a not-so-reassuring smile. He can't blame her.
Five seconds pass, then ten. Now twenty. There is no answer. Castle rings the doorbell again. Another ten seconds pass, then ten more.
Suddenly a light is turned on and there is some commotion. Kate is ready to smash the door window and work her way in when she and Castle – through the door window – see the half lit forms of Esposito and Ryan walking to the door. A few seconds later, the front door opens and Castle and Kate walk in, confused as to how – and why – their two colleagues have broken in from the back. The plan was to make sure Smith didn't bolt through the back door – not have them break in.
"Javi, what the –"
"Kate . . . just follow us," Kevin says, and his face tells Beckett all she needs to know. She and Castle follow the two detectives into the kitchen area. They are seasoned detectives – Beckett, Esposito and Ryan – but the macabre scene that unfolds in front of them is something you never get used to.
Melinda Smith is tied to a chair, a few fingers broken, along with her nose. A bullet hole in her slumped back head prevents them from even bothering to check for a pulse, as they gaze at her lifeless, opened eyes.
In a chair next to her is her equally deceased husband. Mr. Michael Smith's lifeless eyes also stare back at them, his face adorned with lacerations and two bullet holes in his chest over his heart.
And that's not even the worst part.
A message is written on the kitchen wall. Written in the blood of one or both of the two corpses in the chairs. It's a simple message – one that chills the room.
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