Forty-Seven: Chapter 25
DISCLAIMER: None of these characters are mine, but they are memorable. Thank you, Mr. Marlowe.
Wednesday, March 28, 2012 – 9:57 a.m. – At New York Methodist Hospital in Brooklyn
"Are you sure you are all right?" Castle asks, watching Kate gingerly touch an area around her ribs that is giving her problems.
"I think so," she tells him, but her gaze is firmly fixed on Javier Esposito, who stands motionless at the door to Jim Beckett's room. Yesterday he came across his childhood best friend, a man he had fought for and fought with – both in high school and in the Middle East. Yesterday he saw this man for the first time in years. Today, he killed him.
It doesn't matter that the Cedric Marks he knew probably died in Iraq. That man never made it back. It doesn't matter that the Cedric Marks who he saw yesterday was a different cat altogether. It doesn't matter that the Cedric Marks he had in his scopes on the rooftop was a hired gun. Who had shot his partner last summer - who had shot his friend yesterday - who had knocked him unconscious yesterday. He was still Cedric.
And he still killed him.
She's taken a beating, physically. She thinks back for a moment and decides that yeah, this was the worst beating she has ever taken. But she realizes that her friend at the door has just taken an emotional beating. She imagines for a moment, how she would feel herself if something happened to turn Castle, and she had to put him down. She imagines the conflict, how she would feel, how it would probably kill her to do it. Then she thinks about Javier, and quickly does the math for how long Javier and Maddox were friends. Good friends – best friends.
Castle seems to read her mind, staring back at their friend who has a blank, expressionless stare.
"Let him adjust," Castle tells her softly as he glances back at their friend. Kevin Ryan stands beside Esposito, speaking no words. His presence is enough.
"I do have something to tell you, though," Castle says, now focusing back on the woman sitting next to him. There is a bruise already forming on her face. He touches it gently and she tries not to wince. He is thankful that Esposito was on the opposite rooftop. He is thankful that Esposito made the decision that he did.
"I have something to tell you, too," she tells him, and he can see the fire re-igniting in her eyes.
"Me, first," he remarks, which immediately tells her that this is important. Always the gentleman, him wanting to talk first is telling. And the fact that he doesn't have that boyish excitement about this tells her this is serious.
"Kate," he says with a pause, "I think we may have figured out who killed your mother." He tests her eyes for a reaction and is surprised to get none.
"Kate?" he questions, wondering if she'd heard him."
"Senator William Bracken," she simply replies, with no expression save the wincing from the pain from breathing.
"How in the world did you find that out?" he asks, wondering if Gates has placed a call to her top homicide detective.
"Maddox," she replies.
"Maddox?" Castle remarks incredulously.
"On the rooftop," she begins. "He knocked me over the ledge, as you know, and then for some reason – thank you God – he pulled me back up. Told me that Bracken was behind all of it; told me why."
She glances at Esposito once more as she tells him this last part. She knows he hears her. Castle simply stares at her for a moment, taking this new information in. Apparently, a massive change of heart occurred up on the rooftop. A rooftop redemption, if you will. Years late, of course, but in time to save her life . . . and maybe set her on the road to closure.
"I wonder if this means you . . . I wonder if this means that you are out of the woods?" he guesses aloud. "I mean, I would think that –"
"Bracken will probably send someone else," she interrupts. "Maddox said . . . and I don't think he was talking to me. I think he was talking to himself, out loud. But he said Bracken has more resources like Maddox that he can bring. He even mentioned some assassin – a woman – who clearly spooked him. Said he would never even see her coming."
"Shit," Castle remarks.
"Yeah, my thought exactly."
"What do we do?" Castle asks. Kate Beckett is quiet for a few seconds.
"We take the war to him," Esposito tells them from the doorway. There is no emotion in his voice.
Kate glances at her sleeping father in the bed and back at her friends.
"Yes, that's exactly what we do," she remarks, standing up.
Wednesday, March 28, 2012 – 11:03 a.m. – At the New Amsterdam Bank and Trust
"Which deposit box are you interested in, detectives?" Mr. Jones asks. The assistant bank manager stands in front of them at the small counter.
"Box 2727," Kate Beckett replies as she and Javier Esposito put their badges away. Castle stands a step behind the two. It's been a couple of months since he has stepped foot inside this bank. Renovations from the bomb blast have done a good job cleaning the place and making it passable . . . professional. But the scaffold out front, the workers still there – it's not the greatest memory for Richard Castle.
He shakes the thought away, turning to face Javier Esposito. It had been an awkward ride from the hospital, with Esposito as quite as a church mouse – which is definitely not the Esposito they know. Regardless, all evidence points to the attack on Jim Beckett being a rogue move by Cole Maddox – nee Cedric Marks. But that's an assumption none of them are willing to take. So Kevin Ryan has stayed behind at the hospital room, to make sure nothing else happens to the man. After all, Kate has said that Maddox told her Bracken would send more.
Moments later, Jones returns with a single box in his hands, which he places in front of the trio.
"Since this is a police matter, I suppose this is all right," Jones begins. According to the paperwork, this was only to be opened by Mr. Maddox or a Mr. Esposito. I don't suppose –"
"Excuse me!?" Javier Esposito remarks, confused.
"Says it right here," Jones remarks, and seconds later they are glancing at the official signature form, which draws an unintelligible remark from Javier.
"Doesn't matter," Castle tells the group, glancing down. "Open it, Kate."
Jones opens the box, and there are two pieces of paper there, along with an old computer CD. The first paper is obviously a bank statement, showing bank wires and transfers, deposits and withdrawals. The bank is clearly an off-shore account. The second paper is also a bank statement, but this one is from a local bank.
"What are we looking at?" Castle muses aloud.
"Two banks. One local," Esposito begins. "If Cedric was on the level . . . if Cedric was telling the truth, then one will be Bracken's local account from years ago, while the second will be his off-shore account."
"How can we tell?" Kate asks.
"Well, for one, his name is listed as the account holder for this one," Castle smiles, always amused at how these two detectives who can find a needle in a haystack often initially miss the most obvious information. "Look for transfers from one account to the other," Castle continues, now following Esposito's logic.
"That shows linkage," she nods in agreement. The trio takes the contents to a table nearby and sit down. Seconds later, three heads form a teepee of sorts, hovering over the papers, looking for that 'linkage'.
"Got it," Castle says, putting his finger on an entry. "Esposito nods his head, having found the same entry simultaneously.
"You're right," Kate says excitedly. "Clearly a transfer of funds from this account to the off-shore account. So now we know that Bracken has transferred money to an offshore account –"
"Multiple times," Castle adds, pointing out a second entry. As he does, Esposito uses his finger to silently point out a third much farther down the page.
Both Castle and Beckett nod at the finding. They continue to glance at the numbers on the paper, which is a historical document in their efforts to solve this puzzle. They are interrupted by Esposito.
"Kate," is all he says, but his finger is pointing to a transaction on the second, offshore account document. It is a transfer to a stateside account, but not the one belonging to Bracken. His finger is on the date of the transaction.
January 3, 1999.
Kate gasps, and sits back down, with Castle standing over her now, rubbing her shoulders.
"Easy, Kate," he whispers into her ear, glancing at Javier. Javier remains quiet, but now points out a second entry to the pair. This one is another transfer from the offshore account to the same account shown on the January 9th transaction. The date on this one is January 10th, 1999.
"Breathe, Kate," Castle tells her. Esposito watches the reaction, and although he is quiet, he knows the turmoil going on inside his friend.
"I'm sorry, Beckett," Esposito manages, as he takes the now empty box back to the counter where Mr. Jones still waits. He returns to the table and rejoins his friends. Still quiet.
He sits, and both he and Richard Castle are having the same thoughts at the same time. How in the world does one react when they are viewing – with their own eyes – the money trail for the initial payment and final payment of a hit against a loved one? A parent.
Inside, she is seething, crying, completely falling apart. Will this stand up in court. Probably not. Circumstantial, they will say. But it is enough for her. It is enough for the two men who are with her. And while the hurricane pounds her heart, her head stays focused. The tears in her eyes don't cloud her thinking. They focus her thinking.
"We find this account," she says pointing to the receiving account on the 10th. "We verify that this account belonged to Dick Coonan."
"And if it did," Castle adds in agreement, "then we know for certain . . . Bracken is our man."
"Then what?" Kate asks. "It is circumstantial. Somehow, he will find his way out of this. It's a trail, but not the smoking gun a jury would need."
"And he's a crafty, experienced politician," Castle adds, then repeats Kate's question. "So what then?"
"Then," Detective Esposito replies, "as I already said . . . we take the war to him. We declare war."
"And how exactly do we do that?" Kate asks. There is no sarcasm in her voice – just genuine confusion as to their next step.
"Oh, I think we can figure something out," Esposito muses darkly.
Wednesday, March 28, 2012 – 8:37 p.m. – At Senator William Bracken's Washington, D.C. Residence
She stands on the sidewalk leading up to the colonial home, as darkness settles in over the nation's capital. She is hesitating. This is a moment she has been planning for, pleading for, walking towards for over a decade. Now she is here, and the moment begins to rise, grow on its own. It's becoming too big for her. The voice in her ear, however, calms her, steels her resolve.
"You can do this, Beckett," Detective Javier Esposito tells her over the earpiece she wears tucked in her ear, and covered by long locks of hair. "You've waited over a third of your life for this moment. Now get your ass in there."
"Declare war" Javier Esposito had told them. And he had told them how. You walk up to the bully, you tell him things are changing, and you punch him in the mouth. Hard. You let him know this is no longer a one-sided battle. It's a full-on war. With consequences. Up to this point, the only person suffering any consequences has been Kate Beckett, and a slew of families mourning dead bodies.
"No more. After tonight, he knows he's in a fight," she tells herself, as she walks the final two steps and – before she can lose her nerve – she knocks on the door.
She knows he is home. Detective Kevin Ryan - who sits in the car down the street with Castle in the backseat, while Esposito sits in the front - has confirmed this half an hour ago. Two hard knocks brings the Senator to the door. He looks through the peephole and only sees what he imagines is a woman with long hair, wearing a baseball cap and looking down at her feet.
"Stupid salespeople – the sign says no soliciting," he mutters aloud to himself as he opens the door. She lifts her head, her eyes falling upon his. He's cool as a cucumber, but his eyes betray him briefly. The recognition of the woman before him – and the shock of her being here – tells her all she needs to know.
"May I come in, Senator?" she asks.
"Of course, Detective," he replies, using her title. There is no use playing dumb, acting ignorant. No need for games. He's learned this in the past – own up to the moment, seize the moment, win the moment. She knows. He will play it from here.
Once inside, he becomes the perfect host, the perfect gentleman.
"Can I offer you a drink," he asks, knowing she will refuse. Again, she surprises him.
"Scotch," she replies. Her acceptance of his offer and her choice of drink give him pause. Less than a minute in, and this is not going the way he would have ever imagined. He knew someday the detective would figure it out. She's not stupid. That's why she needed to die. He wonders if he shouldn't just have allowed Maddox to kill her, as Maddox wanted. And now, he has to lose him before that final job is done.
He'd heard on the news about the kidnapping gone awry of the father of the detective, and the police were linking him to the killings of an attorney and his wife in Connecticut. What he does not know is that Cole Maddox is dead. The detectives of the 12th have kept this information silent until tomorrow. It took some twisting of the arm with Captain Gates, but she finally agreed to a closed lip policy for twenty four hours. Enough time for them to set this first trap.
She watches him open the bottle and grab two glasses. She watches as he pours and then brings the glasses to her. Handed her one, he lifts a glass in a salute.
"To mothers," he toasts, his eyes glinting fire. IF she thinks she is going to come into his home and intimidate him, she obviously has no idea who she is dealing with.
"Easy Kate," Esposito coos in her ear. "He's baiting you. Stay focused."
Kate pushes the bile back down her throat, focusing her eyes on his as she takes a long swallow of the liquid, relishing the burn as it runs down her spine. Then she surprises him once again. She smiles. She reaches into her chest pocket and pulls out a photograph.
He sees the photo coming out, and assumes it is the crime scene photo of her mother, lying bleeding and dead in the alley. He could not be more wrong.
He glances down at the picture she places, face down, in his hand. He turns it over, and finds a picture of Cole Maddox, his lifeless eyes staring back at him. He moves his gaze from the picture to Kate, now understanding the purpose of this visit. For the first time in a decade, he has to suppress a shudder. It's almost imperceptible.
Almost.
"I'm tired of running, Senator," she tells him. "And I'm tired of you getting to play this game from the safety of the cheap seats in the outfield. It's time for you to step into the batter's box."
She takes another swallow – perhaps for strength, perhaps for comfort. Her nerves are calming down, but she recalls the advice from Esposito in the car.
"There will come a point where the adrenaline begins to wear off, and your nerves will start to settle down. Fight against that moment. You want your nerves on edge. You will need to keep that edge."
Now, she fights to keep that edge, that darkness. Elizabeth Bracken picks that second to enter into the living room.
"Bill – who is our guest?" she asks, but Kate immediately realizes from the woman's tone and eyes that she, too, immediately recognizes Kate Beckett. The realization that his wife knows, that his wife could very well be a part of all of this – well, that fires her nerves again giving her the edge she needs to complete this declaration of war.
"Mrs. Bracken, don't insult me," she begins. "You know exactly who I am. And I am here to tell you that the same deal you had with Roy Montgomery, you now have with me. I have copies of certain papers – papers that I confiscated from your friend here," she continues, pointing to the photograph in Bracken's hands.
"Those copies have been sent out to dozens of people, dozens of banks, all with the same instructions. Do not open, upon threat of death. But if anything happens to me, to my family, to anyone I care about, those contents go directly to CNN. They go directly to the local NBC, ABC, CBS and FOX affiliates. For now, we are at détente. But make no mistake Senator. We are at war."
"I have misjudged you, Detective," he tells her, and there is almost admiration in his voice. It sickens her. She turns and faces him.
"Yes you did," she replies with a frosty, grim smile, her eyes darkening. She downs the remaining liquid in her glass and then – in one swift motion – hurls the glass across the room and smashes her fist against the side of his face. Her mother's ring, normally on a necklace around her neck is now on her finger. The stone rips into the Senator's face, drawing blood.
"For the life I lost," she tells him, and then strikes a second blow to his face. This blow brings sends him down to one knee, stunned at the ferocity of the attack.
"Again, Kate!" she hears Javier Esposito hiss into her ear. "He has to know what he is up against now!"
Elizabeth Bracken finally snaps out of her paralyzed shock and moves toward the detective to protect her husband. The straight kick to the stomach she receives sends her backwards, wheezing. It gives Kate Beckett the final opening she needs to place one final blow – from her mother's ring – across the Senator's jaw. His eyes are frantic as he tastes his own blood for the first time since his time in the military. For a moment, his mind wanders, wondering if this is how she took out his assassin, Maddox. He hears her walking away towards the door.
"This isn't over, Detective!" he roars angrily, finally losing his vaunted, precious composure.
"You're right, Senator," she agrees as she opens the door. "This is only the beginning."
She closes the door behind her. Inside, a bruised Senator picks himself up off the ground and walks toward his wife, who herself is picking herself up away from the wall. He holds his hand out, which she accepts as he lifts her to her feet. The blood is now dripping from two wounds on his face onto the floor. He stands in place while she walks quickly into the kitchen, grabbing a paper towel and wetting it in the sink. Seconds later she is back with him, dabbing the wounds.
"Well, that was unexpected," he mutters, regaining his bearings and composure.
"I am sorry, love," she tells him softly as she holds the towel in place to staunch the bleeding. "This may leave a mark." She continues to dab at his wound, and he winces slightly as she applies more pressure.
"When I had her snooping mother killed, I never thought we'd still be facing repercussions all these years later," she tells her husband.
"It was the right decision, Liz," he tells her, raising his hand to hold hers against his face. "We live with those decisions."
"What do you want me to do?" she asks after a few seconds of silence. He thinks about her question for a moment and finally replies.
"Nothing. Nothing right now. As she said, we are in détente. A truce. For now."
"But we are at war, love," she tells him firmly.
"Of that, my dear," he tells her with a small smile, "the detective has been very clear."