When the door slammed behind Beckett, Castle stopped fiddling with the photographs and leaned back in his chair, putting his hands behind his head. Yes, he was clearly played a cruel joke, but the slope was absolutely no-nonsense: as if some representative of the Sect of Universal Evil decided to take the writer out of the game, the stake in which was significant, but unclear. And to understand to whom he, Castle, crossed the road, would take a long time. No, of course, he was not so sinless, but tried to be guided by the principles of honor, kindness, responsibility and mutual aid, and it was his only true line of life. Yes, there were mistakes, but Rick didn't consider them fatal. Yes, more than once he faced difficult choices, but he tried to choose with his mind and heart. And if, in some difficult situation, something did not add up, then, calming himself with lack of life experience or ambiguous worldly circumstances, Rick tried to rethink what was happening to make the right, far-reaching conclusions and never make mistakes again. And on the living - also had to cut, but when communication goes with misunderstanding, there is an insurmountable deadlock. Because there are priorities and there is a word, an oath, if you want, which he once gave to someone. And you can't back out of an oath, because you stop respecting yourself. Even though it makes you sad, yeah.
But now. Now he needs to get out of this wildest story, and not just get out and passively wait for inspiration, but to develop the most that no matter what is a violent activity (which is still limited by the cops), and until the production of his alleged involvement will be disclosed, leniency and release he will not see. But it will not last long, and the scales will definitely swing in his favor. And further - further will need help: first - the mayor, and then - this is a charming "prickle" Detective Beckett. And thanks to her official powers he, Castle, will have a new plot twist, and a hundred percent possibility of revenge, and the one who put him in this adventure, will definitely pay ...
Leaving the interrogation room, Kate saw Ryan standing with his back to her near the observation window, talking to two women: an elegantly dressed lady in an evening gown and a teenage girl with dazzling red hair. And both ladies were visibly anxious, both had red eyes, but they listened to the officer without interrupting, and the girl was holding a laptop under her arm.
"Apparently this is Castle's family!" - and as Kate clomped her heels toward them, all three of them turned their attention to her.
- Well, what have we got? - Beckett knew she looked good on the outside, but she felt uneasy.
First of all, it was the uncertainty. They had no clear confirmation of Castle's involvement in the murder, but some long-forgotten sixth sense told Kate that the situation was not as clear-cut as the facts suggested.
Second, it was her own direct duty to tell strangers trouble, even if she shouldn't.
Thirdly, the matter is still in her usual ebullience, that again faced with the non-obviousness of motive, which Castle seems to have no, but for the prosecutor's office and the court is not enough. So Mr. Castle stays locked up, and she and her guys have to gather evidence, schedule a timeline, and thoroughly build the right case. And in that, of all places, she's got Castle himself to help her.
When a rich and famous guy gets into a mess that threatens to bring down all the foundations and jail time, he'll fight for his name like a wounded lion. And it would be foolish not to use this chance, but first it is necessary to go back to the facts and check everything thoroughly. And without the results of expertise, she will not go any further, and she will not hurry, because she respects herself. And now - with an even business-like appearance to avoid sharp, categorical judgments to calm panic-stricken ladies. And being a woman herself, Beckett couldn't stand public (let alone her own!) tears, so she tried to steer the thread of conversation in such a way as to extinguish tantrums and calm them down, inspiring respect and trust. And it had to work, because it always did...
- This is Ms. Martha Rogers, and this is Alexis Castle,- Ryan introduced both visitors. - They're interested in Mr. Castle.
- Detective Beckett, - Kate introduced herself politely and formally. - I'm the one in charge of his case.
- Nice to meet you. Such trouble! Such trouble! You know, the boy had no father, - and Martha put a crumpled handkerchief to her eyes. - But my son is incapable of crime. Even though he was raised by me alone, I was able to instill in him the hard truths. And the fact that my boy got into an unseemly situation, does not characterize him as a person whose words are not worth listening to. On the contrary.
She sighed heavily, deeply. In response, Beckett, understanding Martha's anxiety, gently touched her shoulder with her hand.
- We're trying to work, Miss Rogers, and his fate depends on how much Mr. Castle is willing to cooperate. We'll do whatever it takes to get to the truth in this messy case.
- And I brought you his laptop, - Alexis shifted her eyebrows, looking like she was trying her best to appear older. - Take a look at his browser history, see if you can find anything worthwhile.
- Okay. Okay. I'll go see the experts, - Ryan grabbed the laptop and said a final goodbye to both ladies. - Goodbye, ladies! Don't be upset. We'll figure it all out! Officer's word!
- We understand, - and Martha put her hands together in front of her in anguish: - Can we see him?
Beckett pointed to the glass of the interrogation room, and both of them, grandmother and granddaughter, were immediately drawn to the observation window. With their arms around their shoulders, they silently looked at their son and father, and - Beckett could have sworn - silently prayed for his fate ...
- Excuse me, we'll keep working, - Beckett said into their backs, and the women headed for the exit without a word. There was so much sorrow and grief in their slumped shoulders, such a heavy, shuffling gait, that Beckett's heart sank. Because sympathy was another part of her, and it wasn't even God...
- Damn it! - Kate used three fingers to grasp the bridge of her nose and rubbed it vigorously. - How I miss the results of expertise!
And glanced at the suspect: in the pose of Rodin's Thinker, Castle looked somewhere in one place. Sometimes his lips moved, and his fingers touched his eyebrows or the tip of his nose. And froze in the same position: Castle was clearly in deep thought, and from what the Mr. writer will think, the essence of the dialog will be marked. And after a few minutes of reflection, Beckett smoothly pulled the doorknob...
- ... I haven't even had time to miss you, Detective,- he smiled with a warm and ingenuous smile and bowed his hand to his heart. - How was it for you?
- More like you, - she was the most imperturbable person in the world. - Your family was here.
- Mom? Alexis? - Ric was instantly alert, worry flashing in his eyes, a shadow on his forehead. - Are they okay?!
Castle jumped up from his seat, but realizing his status as a slave, only washed his face with his palms.
- I think so, or else I would have been informed... - and slowly sank back into his seat.
- Well... they weren't the ones found near the corpse, - Kate hummed, feigning understanding. - And they brought your laptop. Any thoughts?
For a few minutes, chewing his lip, he stared into her face with a hard, open gaze, then suddenly rolled up his sleeves to the folds.
- That's fine. Since I have no way of getting out of here just like that, the old method works, specifically Plan B.
- Plan B? - Kate's eyes widened in genuine amazement. - What happened to Plan A?
- It didn't please the universe! - and Castle interlocked his fingers over his crossed legs. - And believe me: the Universe is not to be upset!
- Upset? The universe? - Castle was obviously joking, but she's had her share of weirdos in her practice. - Are you out of your mind again, Mr. Castle?!
He responded by squaring his powerful, rounded shoulders even more.
- Not a bit. It's just that when a fortress can't be taken, the wall has to be bypassed: a ladder, for example. Or, uh, dig a hole in the wall.
- Dig? A ladder? - Beckett tapped the face of her watch eloquently. - I think someone's stalling. And it's the same someone who's risking being stuck here for a long time.
Again they looked eye to eye, and his gaze was clearer than spring water.
- ...a moot point. Like I said, you can't do this without my help. It's just logic. And observation.
- Oh, my God! - and Beckett threw up her hands in a show of hands. - How have we ever done this without you before, Mr. Castle?!
- I don't know how you did, but you sure lost a lot.
- Pfft,- Kate snorted angrily, pushing the empty folder toward her. - Are you going to be substantive?
- I'm always substantive. Even if it seems like I don't...
Beckett opened her mouth, but she was interrupted by Ryan's cell phone ringing. And Cate listened to him without interrupting or saying a word. And her face remained completely impassive...
- ...so I'll continue, - Castle grinned to himself. - Since my laptop's here, you can look at my browser history: there's a link in the mail that I clicked on.
Lightly pushing off the edge of the table, Kate nonchalantly crossed her arms over her chest.
- Yes, there is a link, and it goes to some server in the Dominican Republic. Except the file isn't there anymore.
- It's not? What about the browser cache? There had to be something left there!
- Nothing like what we're looking for. The experts know their stuff. And so does whoever started this. You ever heard of self-destructing files?
- I'm not a hacker, and I'm no expert in information security, I'll be honest. But that's not gonna stop me from doing everything I can to clear my name. I'm telling you, someone's trying to destroy me. You saw the shoe prints, didn't you?
- Yeah, but there's no clear footprints. It's like my feet were wrapped in tape. And someone obviously didn't want to be identified.
- Wow,- Castle nodded enthusiastically, picking up the photos again. - I've looked at the case files, so I'm asking myself and you a question: how was the blow delivered - from above or from himself?
- Is there anything that confuses you?
- Of course I am. How do you think I hit him like that? What does the position of the wound channel tell us? Why is the axis of the knife pointing from the sternum to the shoulder? How could a right-handed person stab a victim like that? Could our villain be left-handed?
There was a pause, and Beckett caught herself thinking like him. Asking the same questions, focusing on the same thing, the most important, but not yet obvious. And logically, Castle is thinking along the same lines as she is. And that means common ground, but there's no way she's sharing her background with Castle. Well, unless it's within certain boundaries.
- Maybe. What else have you noticed that's unusual? Anything that doesn't make sense?- and Castle scratched his temple in concentration. - I'd throw in a couple ideas, but I don't want to indulge in plagiarism.
She would have knocked him right there, but she noticed the cheerful wrinkles shooting from the corners of her eyes, so she didn't fall for it.
- No matter how hard you try, Mr. Castle. While the big boys are engaged in empty self-promotion, serious people are doing serious work. And right now, any minute now, we're waiting on forensics to either confirm or deny your status. Either way, I'm not gonna be upset.
- Too bad, Detective," and his lips formed into a devilishly charming smile. - I mean, it would have been a hell of a thing: a gun, a badge, and one of the most evolved writing minds of our time...
- Yes, Mr. Castle, - characteristically rounded eyes Kate. - Your ego has already outgrown the Statue of Liberty, and I have nothing more to offer you. Unless you want to tell me more about what we're in for. A little historical background would be nice. Just to be clear, at least.
- Historical? - Castle's back in the thinking man's pose. - I have a topic related to today's incident: there was once a case of a publisher's van failing to deliver books to a provincial store. The attack was violent, with masks and a gun, but the police had no emotions about the case. Moreover, the driver was simply frightened, and the truck was soon found, empty and burned to the ground. And no one was interested in digging through the embers. And it seemed to me at that time that it was easier to just give up and forget everything, but here it is as it turned out... It's been almost three years.