Papa Jack Chapter 21

In the hall outside the gunman's hospital room, Castle hands Kate a Styrofoam cup. "You wouldn't know it by looking into its murky depths or taking a sniff, but the machine claims this is coffee. There's supposed to be a cart in the lobby selling the real stuff, but it doesn't open for a couple of hours yet."

Kate wraps her hands around the cup. "This is great, Castle. Thanks. You really didn't have to come out in the middle of the night."

"You're right. I didn't have to. I wanted to. Captain Montgomery called me and said he thought you could use some company. And given the hospital security and the cop outside your suspect's door, this place is safer than most. Montgomery mentioned that it was the first time you had to shoot someone. Is that true?"

"Yeah, it's true. Damn it, Castle! Lots of cops get through their entire careers without having to draw their weapons. This was the first time I had to draw mine."

"But you did it to save a life, Beckett. The owner of the store, Oscar Nielson, is already on the news. He said the guy you shot was about to kill him. And considering how all the other store owners were murdered, he's telling the truth. You did the right thing."

Kate stares down at her coffee. "I still had to surrender my weapon, and I could be on restricted duty, have to stick to my desk, until the shooting investigation closes."

"How long will that take?" Richard asks.

"It could take several months or even a year."

"Even with a witness telling the press you did the right thing?'

"With that, the initial investigation shouldn't take nearly that long. But I'll still have to go before the internal review board. Its report could take a long time. And there's also a possibility of a complaint going to the civilian review board. The jerk in there could even try to file suit against the city. The thing in my favor is that Mr. Nielson had video surveillance in the store. He said he put it in because he couldn't afford the cost of rip-offs anymore, not even of cheap stuff." The corners of Kate's mouth twitch almost imperceptively upward. "The whole thing's on tape."

"I don't see how that couldn't help – a lot," Richard offers. He points at the hospital room door. "How badly is the guy in there injured, anyway? If the doctors thought it was life-threatening, wouldn't he be in the ICU?"

"Yeah," Kate agrees. "I got him in the butt. Not a great shot. I was aiming for the center of mass. But from what I heard, it clipped a nerve, which is what took him down. They say he'll be in a lot of pain for a while, maybe for the rest of his life."

"Hey, sounds like poetic justice. So, if you know the bastard's going to live, why are you sitting here? Why not go home and get at least a couple of hours of sleep before they put you on the rack tomorrow?"

"No way I could sleep, Castle. I'm not allowed to talk to the suspect, but if he goes south or something, at least I'll know about it."

"Then, I'll sit with you and know about it too. Watson, remember?"

"Right now, I don't feel much like Sherlock."

"You prevented a robbery-homicide. That's about as Holmesian as you can get."

"No, Holmesian would be figuring out this guy's Moriarty."

"For which capturing a henchman could very well be the first step."

In a dark corner of the hospital parking area, Anatoly surveys the traffic in and out. He'd followed the jackal's offspring here and been tempted to shoot him as he ran from his cab to get inside. But one more shooting in New York City would send no message. The rogue cell member considers the hospital as a bombing target. It could kill a lot of people and shock the nation, but there's no guarantee that by the time the mission was carried out, the target of his revenge would be taken out with it. He'll wait. He'll watch. The opportunity will come, and this time, there will be no failure. The man calling himself Richard Castle will die. Anna will be avenged and the people of this accursed country will realize just how powerless their leaders are to protect them.

In the breakroom off of the bullpen, Richard oversees the installation of a professional espresso machine. If Beckett is going to be stuck behind a desk for however long, she can at least drink something better than NYPD sludge. Still, he doesn't believe that the investigation of Beckett's officer-involved shooting will take nearly as long as she feared. Before the D.A.'s office could stop him, Nielson released a copy of the tape of the shooting to ZNN. He was also interviewed on The Today Show and Good Morning America. Richard suspects the jeweler is hoping the publicity will attract enough customers to his establishment to keep it from going under. The writer wishes him luck. Nielson's business aside, with a considerable proportion of the city and, in fact, the country having seen what really went down, Richard expects the severing of Kate's tether to her desk to be carried out as quickly as the NYPD can manage it.

The would-be shooter isn't talking. He had no ID on him, and his fingerprints weren't on record. Ballistics, however, did have luck with his weapon. It matches the bullet Lanie Parish dug out of Stuart Lehman. That connects at least two of the robberies. Unidentified as it was at the time, a print matching their John Doe was also found at one of the robbery homicides at an electronics store. That more firmly establishes the link between the crimes.

Now, the hunt is on to put a real name to the dastardly Mr. Doe. The NYPD is begging airport surveillance to see if he turns up. Since 9/11, he couldn't, theoretically, at least, get on a plane without proper ID. The cops are also trying to trace his clothes, his shoes, and anything that might yield a clue to his identity. Doe was wearing a ring with what looked like a family crest on it. Richard checked the ordinary references regarding similar symbols but found nothing. Still, he's determined to identify it. He'd rather stay with Beckett while she slogs her way through endless forms. Still, once he makes sure a superior caffeinated brew is available for her, he's off to a place that has rarely failed him – the main branch of the New York Public Library.

Jim Beckett steadily plows through a less daunting stack of paperwork than his daughter faces. He wishes that he could do something more to help her. Still, other than some rapid research into any unexpected challenges she might face, there was nothing he could do except meet her over burgers in their favorite diner and assure her that under every regulation he could find, she'd acted entirely with the law and NYPD guidelines. He's afraid that he wasn't much comfort. In the meantime, helping to get Richard Castle's fundraiser legally off the ground is a job worth doing. That Castle isn't stingy in the fee department doesn't hurt either. Jim's still trying to put his law practice back together from when his wife's death plunged him into a battle with alcoholism and depression. He continues to need at least one meeting a week, sometimes more. He's been to three already this week. But Katie is alive and well. Right now, that's all that counts.