Kate Beckett, Investigator Chapter 34
"An immigration lawyer that works pro bono," Professor Amal Mali considers, "actually Ms. Beckett, for some cases, that is a lot of us."
"You're actively practicing?" Kate inquires.
Mali nods. "Around my teaching and my writing, when I can. There's more than enough work to go around – too much."
"I'm beginning to understand why," Kate says. "So what or whom would you recommend?
"I can give you several names, but finding an attorney is far from the most difficult task. Paperwork gets stuck in the pipeline for a multitude of reasons. Something seemingly minor, like a misspelling or a variation in spelling, can stop the process cold. It happens a lot when names are transliterated, as they are from any language not using the Roman alphabet. That's a huge segment of the world's population and applies to a substantial number of immigrants. Even when the system gets the name right, a mistaken identity about something as stupid as a traffic ticket can halt approval and even get someone deported. And the backlog is massive, both for the government and for the attorneys involved."
"So what would you advise?" Kate asks.
"Go through every scrap of paper the clients have and make sure everything matches up. That will give any attorney a more solid place to start."
"All right," Kate agrees. "We can do that. Thank you, Professor."
"Good luck to you, Ms. Beckett, and the clients involved with your inquiry. You all have a long road ahead."
"I thought law school would be hard, but it's easier than trying to get the attention of the immigration bureaucracy," Kate confides to Castle as she plops on a stool at the kitchen counter. "Professor Mali warned me, but it was nothing compared to what I'm learning about the reality."
"At least, in Dory Willis, Dev and company have a good attorney for their problems. Not that your father isn't a great lawyer. Your brains don't just come from your mother. You know, while you were in the john the other day, your dad actually quoted Clint Eastwood to me, "A man's gotta know his limitations."
"And even with whatever I can do, he's going to have a full plate with the PFAS suits, probably for years," Kate adds.
"Your plate's pretty full, too, with the record hunting you're doing and law school," Castle points out.
Kate cups her husband's cheek. "I'd never get through it without you and how much time you give me and Eleanor. Where did you two go today, anyway? She was babbling so much when I came home, I thought she'd break out in a Castle narration."
"She's heard enough of them. Who knows what's managed to soak into her brain? However, to answer your question, we went to the zoo – Central Park, not the Bronx. You know how she loves animals. So I took her to Tisch, where the kids can pet the animals and even crawl around and pretend to be them if they want to. The other little kids caught her attention even more than the sheep, goats, and zebu did. I think she was trying to figure out why humans would be making noises like her animal toys. Then there was this one little kid who hunkered down near the goats and started telling them a story. As far as I could tell, it wasn't even out of a children's book. He was just telling a goat story."
Kate purses her lips. "Sounds like something you would have done as a kid – child, not baby goat."
"It does sound rather Castle-like, doesn't it, except that if I were trying out a tale on an animal, it would have been on a backstage mascot like a cat. Although I vaguely remember a Mamet play, summer stock, I think, with ducks in it. I might have tried talking to them. Well, if I was like the child at the zoo, Eleanor may have inherited it. From the moment she got back, she babbled at all her animal toys. And then if she could squeeze them or something to get them to make their noises back, she did."
"If she ever has a real pet, we'll have to teach her not to do that," Kate notes.
"True enough. But I think we may be raising a nascent version of Doctor Doolittle or maybe an animal trainer or a vet. Ooh, maybe she'll write pop-up books with animal noises."
"She'll have to learn to talk first," Kate reminds her husband. "But in this family, that shouldn't take much longer. And …." Kate's phone buzzes. "Hey, Ryan! What's up?"
"Beckett, Javi and I had something come up on a case, and it concerns you. Can you come into the 12th – now?"
"What's it about, Kevin?" Kate asks.
"We really need to show you. Can you get here?"
"Sure, I'll be there in 20 minutes."
"What's going on, Beckett?" Castle asks. "Are you having a cop flashback?"
"I don't know, Babe, but Ryan sounded serious."
Ryan hands Kate an evidence bag containing a crumpled sheet of paper with her name and cell phone number written on it. "Do you recognize this?"
Kate peers at the document. "No. As far as I can remember, I've never seen it before. Where did you get it?"
"It was in the pocket of a murder victim," Esposito says. He holds up a crime scene photo. "Do you recognize him?"
Kate stares at the image. "I do. His name is Calen Sisi. He's one of the men who helped rescue my father. We've been working on a legal matter for him."
"What kind of a legal matter?" Esposito presses.
"That's covered under attorney-client privilege. And as my father's investigator, that privilege extends to me and survives the client's death."
"What can you tell us?" Ryan asks.
"I can give you his address. He was married. Both of those are a matter of public record. You should be able to find his wife, Soraya, there. If you're going to make the notification, though, I'd like to go along. She should see someone she'd regard as a friendly face, and right now, members of law enforcement wouldn't qualify."
"All right, Beckett," Esposito agrees, "if you can go now."
"OK. I can call Castle on the way."
Soraya covers her face with her hands. "When he didn't come home, I was afraid – I could feel that something happened. Who killed him?"
"That's what these detectives are trying to find out, Soraya," Kate explains gently. "I know them. I've known them both for a long time. They're not interested in the matters we've been dealing with, just in finding Calen's killer. You can trust them."
"Are you sure, Ms. Beckett?" Soraya asks shakily.
"I'm sure. Can we all come in and talk?" Kate asks. Soraya waves them inside a tiny apartment to sit at a small table. Kate reaches for Soraya's hand. "When was the last time you saw Calen?"
"This morning, around five o'clock. He said he was going to the parking lot at Handy Depot. Sometimes, the builders come there to pick up men to work. When he didn't come back, I thought he got a job. But he usually calls if he's not coming home for dinner. He didn't call."
"These builders who hire men to work, do you know who any of them are?" Kate asks.
Soraya shakes her head. "No. No one uses names."