White Collar/Castle crossover - White Heat
Title: White Heat
Author: semisweetsoul Art by the lovely aragarna Her master post.
Fandom: White Collar & Castle.
Characters: All the ones you like! Neal, Peter, Diana, Jones, Beckett, Esposito, Ryan, Lannie and of course Castle!
Genre: Case fic.
Rating: PG.
Word Count: 13,019 words
Summary: Castle's latest manuscript surfaces on the Internet. The copyright infringement file ends up on the White Collar division, on Peter Burke's desk after a call from the mayor. It doesn't take long for Peter's team to get a lead, but when Peter and Diana arrives at the suspect's apartment, they're too late. You can't arrest a dead body. When they want to interrogate Castle, he's nowhere to be found. Suspicion arises. Beckett has prove his innocence before his life and reputation are destroyed.
Spoilers: None that I can think of. Mentions of canon events.
Disclaimer: I owe nothing. Please, don't sue.
A/N: This fic is the product of my imagination stirred by this lovely art. Written for the wc-reverse-bb. Many thanks to the mods for their patience and availability, and to my artist. Hope you enjoy the story. This is my first dive into the Castle fandom. I intend to post this to the AO3, once I let it simmer a bit and edit it again. Please point out what you like and dislike (including grammar errors and strange syntax and such) to help me progress. Happy reading! Cheers :)
Read part 2.
WHITE HEAT
Hughes barging in the conference room and giving Peter the double finger point did not bode well. On second thoughts, it might have come as a stroke of luck, and provide the miracle that would put an end to the boredom that had stolen Neal over since the meeting had started. Diana, Jones, Peter and the experts Peter had invited talked technicalities. FBI lingo sometimes did not make much sense to Neal, yet he had more knowledge in law than one could imagine.
While Diana and Jones maintained their composure, and their attention to their visitors and offered them refreshments, Neal observed the new development. Peter stepped outside and closed the door behind him. Hughes bore one of his serious postures, lips tight and arms crossed over his chest. The Grim Reaper would appear cheerier! Neal did not want to miss a second of their discussion behind the glass doors-a silent movie in Technicolor. Whatever the topic, Peter tensed up and protested. Hughes patted him on the shoulder, either to win him over or thank him for the favor he was asking or both, and stuck the files he had been holding into Peter’s hands, not too displeased to part with it. Their exchange lasted less than five minutes. Peter reentered, not bothering to close the door this time-the noises of the bullpen breaking the barrier his exit had built in the room. He did not sit back. Neal, who had some practice in lip-reading, could swear Peter whispered ‘I can’t believe this!’
His hands on his hips, Peter straightened up. “Listen, gentlemen. Unfortunately, I have to cut off this meeting. Thank you for coming. We will contact you as soon as possible.”
They stood up, gathered their briefcases and coats, and Peter escorted them in the corridor where Hannah the newest trainee whose demeanor made Neal think of Kate, waited for them.
“What’s going on, boss?” Diana asked fire in her voice. Neal did sympathize. He knew the feeling, working so hard on a case, spending days and nights in the van, waiting to catch the thieves red-handed, and for some obscure reason, the boss put it on hold.
Peter sat down, and undid his tie, as if he needed oxygen. “The case has been reassigned.”
Diana sprang up from her own chair, banging her fists on the table. “What? This is a joke, right?”
“I’m afraid not. Ramirez will take it from here.”
Her usual passive-aggressive side had turned into anger in the first degree. “This isn’t fair, Peter. We’ve laid all the groundwork!”
He looked hard at Diana, not used to such vehemence on her part, and retorted, “If you want to follow on the case, and make sure the other team makes the arrests by the book, I have no objections. I can arrange for you to join Ramirez’s team if that’s what you want.”
She pondered for a moment, and slumped back on her chair-a ragged doll abandoned for a brand new toy. “No, boss. It’s fine.” Diana sulked; arms folded, eyes raised-a nice Mozzie impersonation, although Neal would keep that thought to himself. No need to awake the sulking beast!
Neal had not wanted to speak so far, but stress rose in the pit of his stomach; the suspense was killing him. Hughes must have had a good reason. What would warrant the best team in their department to hand over such an important case? His duty to partake in their capture and put an end to their actions did not taint the admiration he felt for them. They deserved an award for ingenuity! They targeted movers’ trucks, and after five hits, the value of their larceny amounted to an estimated seven billion dollars. Paintings, sculptures, musical instruments, timepieces or jewelry-to list some of their objects of choice-never reached their owners’ new residences.
At first, Peter suspected the moving company. After a week into infiltration, Jones had gathered enough evidence to prove their honesty. They enlisted June’s help, got the word out some valuable items would change location, and after following the convoy, all her belongings arrived in one piece. No attempted robbery to lament! Bad call! Either the burglars had heard the FBI had made them, or Peter and his team were looking in the wrong direction.
It took another week of heavy digging on Diana’s part to realize this was a simple case of insurance fraud. Her eureka moment-yelling ‘Gotcha! Bastards!’-still resonated in many a pair of ears in the White Collar personnel. She had rushed into Peter’s office, where he was talking with Neal, and ran her theory past them. Owners hired a hit team that stole their possessions; they split the insurance money in half. She had convinced a rich investor to come forward and testify after a woman had approached him, hearing of his impending departure to Europe. He had feigned not understanding, but feared they would attempt to steal from him nonetheless in retaliation. They were about to get his statement when Hughes interrupted them.
As he opened his mouth to ask the question that burned his tongue, Neal heard Jones beat him to the punch.
“So, what’s the new case about?”
At least, now it was out. Neal awaited the answer, the anticipation exciting. Good to know someone else, did, too. Let it be something intriguing, something interesting, something challenging! He needed to get out of the office and go outside, breathe the New York air instead of the stale one of the offices. The tension of these past weeks had put pressure on Peter who had relegated him to a role of quiet consultant-the Bernardo to his Zorro. For the first time, Neal understood Mozzie’s favorite anklet metaphor. Never had Neal felt so close to a dog on a leash. He followed Peter around and obeyed his commands. His treat came in the form of the authorization to leave work an hour before anyone else. He would not have chosen any other means to get rid of him. Most would have taken this reward in a positive light. Most except Neal. He felt useless. Peter did not need his services anymore. Maybe this new case was a good opportunity to remind Peter he was an asset more than a burden.
Peter was rummaging around the papers scattered on the table to find the file Hughes had given him. His annoyance made him lose his cool; several pages fell on the carpet and a sheet flew under the table. Neal hurried to help. He kneeled and once located, stretched his arm to reach for it. He reappeared at Peter’s side feeling much like a magician’s assistant after a vanishing act. Peter grabbed the document and secured it in the folder without even addressing to Neal a word or gesture by way of thanks for his assistance. One more blow to his pride. If this did not work, maybe confrontation would.
“So, Peter, this must be high profile for Hughes to let us drop the case to Ramirez.”
Peter hardly ever let his feelings show-a well-trained FBI agent programmed to internalize his fears and never disclose top-secret information. However, the safety of the Bureau’s premises and the sole presence of colleagues he trusted allowed him to let his guard down.
“Well, it is according to the mayor!”
Poor Peter! Someone so respectful of ethics, someone who had reached his position through hard work, someone who could not stand string-pulling-he despised the practice-had to work a case that went from bottom to top of the pile after a simple phone call from Mr. the Mayor.
If Peter thought irony worked in this case Diana, on the other hand, had a direct way to voice her opinion, “I hate it when politicians meddle in our business!”
“Diana!”
She did not expect Peter’s objection, but as she saw he did not find the whole situation amusing, she uttered two simple words, “Sorry, Boss.”
“Anyway. You want to know what it’s all about?”
“Yes, please!” Jones’s enthusiasm surprised Neal. Did someone reassign their usual behavior at random? He was the enthusiastic one, or he thought so as he could not recall even one instance of Jones showing such sentiment.
“The top priority case that has all our attention from this moment on, and until we bring the guilty parties to justice is… drum roll…” Peter let a second pass for dramatic effect, “a copyright infringement case!”
“You gotta be kidding me!” The revelation brought Diana’s exasperation to a head. She looked like she was about to explode. At least, Neal knew how to use a fire extinguisher.
“I know this isn’t what you expected but the sooner we solve this one, the better the chance to get our old case back.”
Everyone working in the White Collar division hated copyright infringement cases. So much paperwork, too little result. At least, it had the merit to pique Neal’s interest.
“Ever heard of Richard Castle?”
“The novelist?” Diana’s weariness vanished in a flash. A rainbow replaced the storm of her face in an instant. Neal believed he had detected the typical signs of admiration.
Peter nodded.
“What about him?” Jones asked.
“Someone broke into his apartment and stole the computer containing his latest manuscript.”
“Umm, is it still a manuscript when it’s typed?” Jones expressed an interesting point of view. “Well, technically, it’s not handwritten so….”
Neal had a feeling Peter omitted a few details on purpose. The official version felt off. “Can’t local PD investigate a breaking and entering? What do they need the FBI for?”
“Cause it’s Castle. And he’s good friend with the mayor.” Neal detected a touch of irony in Jones’s voice.
“Castle’s smart. I’m sure he made backups.” Diana had appointed herself his advocate.
“Unless there’s more to the story than what you told us, Peter.”
He hesitated to answer. He threw a glance in the direction of the entrance to make sure no extra pair of eyes or ears could spy on them. Neal feeling a sudden chill, stood up, and closed the door. To show he appreciated his presence of mind, Peter approved Neal’s initiative and sent him a discreet nod this time.
“Neal’s right,” Peter said his voice only audible. “It’s the only missing item. Nothing else was taken, and given that he’s wealthy, whoever did it was after something stored in that computer.”
“Or was offered a good price.” Neal wished anyone else but, he, the con artist, ex-forger had made that remark. When you lived of illegal jobs, the money could lend weight to a decision.
“Do we know how they did it?” Diana asked.
“That’s the mysterious part. Nothing is out of the ordinary in the surveillance cameras’ footage. Neighbors did not see or hear anything.”
“What was to be heard, anyway?” Neal added, “Discretion is key to a good theft.”
Jones had taken the police report and was perusing it. His bland expression implied the information it contained had not much value.
“I can’t believe we’ve dropped the best case in a while to find back some writer’s laptop.” Like love and hate, the frontier between admiration and condemnation hung by a thread. Diana would soon migrate to the other side.
“That’s not the problem. Someone is releasing parts of Castle’s manuscript online, and passing it as their own.”
“Why would someone do that? I don’t get it! It makes sense that people would notice and report the story as Castle’s.”
“Maybe whoever did it wants the fans to think he’s Castle, and impersonate him for a while, get a taste at living the life of a famous author.”
“Why not pick a rock star, then?” Neal disagreed with Jones’s theory. “Sounds like much trouble for no result. They could have taken anything from that apartment, but they targeted one specific object.”
“Yes, I agree. It think it’s something else. He would not bother to change the names of the protagonists, and the locations of the plot.”
“What if it were the contrary?”
Peter’s brow furrowed, confusion etched on his face. “Go ahead, I’m listening.”
Neal ventured a guess. “He posts a novel. Then, Castle releases a new thriller. The person comes forward and files a complaint against Castle claiming he stole his idea, and exposes Castle as a fraud, instilling doubt on his readership. Castle loses credibility. His sells drop. Worst-case scenario, he’s found guilty of plagiarism, and his career ends.”
“Good thinking Caffrey, maybe you should be writing novels, too.”
“If you’re right, Neal, his plan failed. We know about him posting copyrighted material. The techs are trying to track the server he or she used to post the last chapter as we speak. It should restrict us to an area in the city. We track them down, arrest them, read them their rights, Hughes and the Mayor are happy, and I can relax a bit.”
“What if he left the state or the country?”
“If he’d run away, he would have posted the whole thing and wouldn’t bother posting a chapter a day…”
“The Feds not far away….” Neal said, and caught sight of the corner of Peter’s mouth turning into a smile, the Burke’s way of expressing amusement. At least, Peter still appreciated his sense of humor.
“So boss, how do you suggest we proceed?” Diana asked all her fieriness and energy ready to burst through the door. She, the knight coming to the rescue of, he, the poor Castle in distress.
* * *
It did not take long for the FBI to identify the origin of the transfer. Their findings pointed at amateurish work. Securing the files to two different servers did not suffice to fool officers familiar with most hacking techniques. By next morning, the operation was in place. Diana and Peter in vests and navy blue jackets FBI flocked set a perimeter around the apartment whose IP address corresponded to that of the suspect. Neal and Jones waited in an unmarked car, in case he attempted to run away. Letting him vanish in the streets of New York would delay their main objective, get their interesting case back from Ramirez. Peter had asked NYPD cruisers to patrol in the area to make sure they were covered. No way would they let him take to his heels!
Peter first went through the building of the well-secured apartment complex, Diana following close behind. The super provided the door code required to cross the entryway. While a team secured the stairs and made sure it would not serve as an exit route, they took the elevator to the seventh floor. They exited on light feet, arms stretched, weapons at the ready, discretion a key element in their endeavor. Never were they too careful. Peter signaled his moves to Diana, who shook her head in awareness. They tiptoed toward the end of the corridor until they reached apartment 7B. Peter knocked and in a loud voice announced their presence with the set formula, “FBI! Open the door!”
Nothing. Not a movement, not a sound. Peter hesitated. Diana waited for his instructions, but he had few options. He decided to call again. “FBI! Open the door!”
Still nothing. Three minutes had passed. Through his earpiece, the surveillance team from the van gave him the latest developments, desperately similar as their situation upstairs.
He had no choice. They had to force the access. He caught Diana’s eyes, and pointed a finger to the door. Three. Two. One. Go. They bumped the weight of their bodies into the wood panel that crashed open.
Peter clung to his revolver and the same three words, “FBI! Show yourself!” He went right; Diana left. They progressed through the apartment, door after door, room after room. Its dimension left no doubt whatsoever that the person living there had the means, and explained why he had left Castle’s place untouched save for the computer.
Peter’s instincts screamed that they were too late. He had no idea how that could be since he had taken all the precautions to make sure the fewest people knew about the raid they had planned. He let his guard down, certain they had wasted time, energy and police workforce, when Diana found something.
“Peter, come to the kitchen. Quick.”
He trotted along a dark corridor, and emerged into the kitchen, his eyes closing in reflex at the sparkling sunrays that reflected on the metal countertop.
“Look, Boss.” Diana aimed her gun at the kitchen cabinet to a stain red in color. “Bloody fingertips.”
Peter knew this type of situation could happen in his line of work, yet blood made him ill at ease and the smell of a corpse queasy. The moment he had stepped into the kitchen, he had felt his stomach turn. It did not betray him. A man lay on the floor as he had fallen down, the upper half of his body in the pantry, the lower in the kitchen. Despite the voice in his head that urged Peter to look away, a morbid curiosity took the upper hand, and he glanced at the person he had come to apprehend, if only to make sure a mistaken identity case would not enlarge his caseload.
“Now, we know why he was silent!”
Peter did not listen to Diana. Not only were his insides churning, but a massive headache had also joined the party. He did not need extra work and worries: reporting to Hughes, dealing with the NYPD, and solving the case. They would need help. Serious help.
He went back a few steps and sat down on a sofa, far away from the crime scene. He would not let a cop blame him for tempering with the evidence.
“Diana!”
“Yeah, boss?”
“Have Jones call the NYPD, and the coroner’s office, then meet us up here.”
“Will do!” She drew her cell phone and left to where the reception worked best. Peter could hear her pass his orders on to Jones. She reappeared in front of him and hunkered down next to the couch. “You need anything, Peter? You look pale.”
“I’m fine. I’m fine, Diana. Don’t worry about me.” Peter tried to stand up, but his legs tottered. Cushions softened his collapse. He closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. When he reopened them, Diana was holding a glass of water, and a cereal bar.
“There, eat this. To increase your blood sugar levels.”
He did not dare say no, and despite being her boss, and the one in charge, he did what she advised.
Jones arrived soon enough, with Neal on toe.
“He wouldn’t stay alone in the car.”
“You bet he didn’t!”
“Hey, would you?”
“Enough, boys! Now, I need you to sweep up the place, and find anything you can before NYPD arrives, and throws us away.”
“Good enough.”
Jones took the bedroom while Neal kept an eye on him in the living-room. Peter supposed Diana had told Jones about his little discomfort. Neal must have overheard and had come to check out if he was all right, unless he could not bear the idea of sitting in the car one more minute, dying from boredom.
Neal inspected the premises and marveled at its expensive furniture-the mahogany bookcase and the row of ornaments that composed its decoration. Peter was no expert like Neal or Elizabeth, but he could tell someone had taken great care into placing each object in the right place, though he doubted the man had died for forgetting where the dishware belonged.
When Peter felt better, he joined his team in inspecting the apartment. It appeared that no one had occupied any of the five bedrooms in quite some time. White sheets covered the beds, and the closets and drawers were empty. The general state of the penthouse let Peter suspect a housekeeper came once or twice a week to dust and water the plants. He would ask the super in case he detained that information. Maybe one of them would know of any suspicious activity, although he did not have much hope. Squatters knew the basic rules to pass unnoticed, and make sure no one would take note of their presence, yet the turn of events showed it had failed this time.
A woman brandishing her detective plate right before his eyes stopped him mid-thoughts. “Detective Beckett. NYPD homicide. What do we have, here?”
It took a second for Peter to register she was addressing him, as she stood straight, her eyes scanning the room, making no attempt at some formal introduction, no handshake, no acquiescence, no nothing. Behind, Neal and Jones were talking to a man wearing a leather jacket, while Diana indicated the kitchen to the coroner’s assistants.
“Sir? Are you all right?”
“I am. I’m sorry. Special Agent Peter Burke. FBI. White Collar crime division.”
Peter did not expect any other reaction, but the frowning face she offered him after he stated his status. He dealt with fraud in general not death, and his presence here seemed contradictory and counterproductive even though, to some extent, he was the police. Above the police even.
“Can you brief me?”
One of her lieutenant approached. “It’s okay, boss. I got the story from agent Jones, here.”
She threw a quick glance at him, more out of politeness than real interest.
“Perfect, thanks Esposito.”
Diana came back from the kitchen, another police lieutenant in her steps. “Lannie’s waiting for you,” he said, acknowledging Peter’s presence with a small nod.
“I’m coming in a sec.” She turned back to Peter. “We’ll take it over from here. We’ll contact you later for your deposition and further questioning, if you don’t mind.”
“No, we don’t. We’ll keep in touch. It is in both our benefit to cooperate on this investigation, to find the guilty parties and brought them to justice.”
Before she could agree or disagree, she had disappeared into the corridor, her squad on her trail.
Once alone in the living room with his teammates, Peter’s indignation subsided. He did not imagine such distance and coldness from the police. They shared common interest. Why not help each other out? Since they were persona non grata at the scene, he opted to go back to the Bureau and regroup. Setting forth their findings and leads worth exploring could get them to move in the right direction. The more evidence they gathered, the more Detective Beckett would have to take them seriously. She must be capable, but he was ahead in terms of seniority, and experience, and … civility, as it appeared.
Back in the conference room, Peter had to face the facts. Saying them aloud might facilitate the forming of a plan of action. “We went to take our suspect into custody, but found him dead. Most likely a bullet wound.”
“Are you sure? Did you get the coroner’s report, already?” Neal asked.
“No need to. Trust us on this one Caffrey.” Diana made a face, hiding her retch with the palm of her hand.
He knew the feeling. Visions of the body stretched out in a pool of blood flashed before his eyes and obstructed his thoughts. “Don’t worry, Neal. They will forward it to us. We’ll pester them until they do, or I’ll go get it myself.”
Neal settled into the back of his chair, eyes on his papers trying to pretend the reproach did not hurt him by doodling. He must believe he appeared relax doing so, but Peter knew how to distinguish a carefree attitude from a forced one. They had spent the last few years working together. What did he expect? Peter regretted the acidity in the tone of his voice, but he found the detective’s manners hard to swallow, and the chances of closing the assurance fraud case grow slimmer.
“I didn’t mean it like that. I’m sorry.”
Neal offered him a small smile. “Never mind. I understand you’re under a lot of stress. Have you ever tried yoga? I know a good teacher.”
“Thanks but no thanks. Doesn’t Mozzie have any important business to attend, anyway?”
“I didn’t say it was Moz.” Peter questioned that statement by maintaining eye contact. “Well, he’s a good teacher. You’d be surprised.”
“It’s okay, really. I know how to relax. El gives these incredible massages that-”
Faced with three pairs of eluding eyes, Peter’s self-consciousness told him to shorten his tale; the boss’s recollection of intimate moments with the Mrs. did not please his colleagues to hear.
“Beckett upsets you.”
He answered by turning his back to Neal. If his eyes gave him away, he should avoid looking at him, or pretend a case of conjunctivitis and invest in a pair of sunglasses.
“The detective. She barely considered you. How dare she ignore the FBI like that? You should’ve stood up for yourself, Peter.”
“Yep. I saw it, too. I know the type. Probably a bad case of hot girl syndrome.”
“What do you mean?” Neal asked.
“You know. The kind of girls who are hot, and know it, and takes everything and everyone for granted.”
“So, you found her hot! Uh.”
Peter could only imagine the big grin painted on Neal’s face.
“Come on, Caffrey! Like you didn’t!” Diana was laughing, now.
“She had a certain je-ne-sais-quoi. Catwoman-like.” Now, Jones butted in on the topic using vocabulary reminiscent of Mozzie’s.
Peter decided to intervene. “Maybe she was under a lot of stress or in a hurry. We can’t know for sure; it’s not important. What is, however, is our case.” Their renewed attention to his words calmed his frustration.
“What do you want us to do, Boss?”
“Well, Diana, I think it’s time we dig into Castle’s life.”
“Sure, I’m on it. Do I call him in for an interview?”
“I thought about it, but I’m afraid he lawyers up. I’d rather interrogate him myself than talk to an attorney.”
She stood up, and left to her office desk, ready to dig up anything she could find.
“You want to surprise him.”
“Yes. Think it’ll work?”
“Well, it worked for me!”
“Except you knew it was a trap-”
“-and I chose to fall into it.”
“Think he’ll guess it’s a trap?”
“Well, he writes crime novels. He’s one step ahead of us.”
“How so?”
“He knows who did it before anyone else does.”
“What about Beckett? I could look into her. Just in case she’s one of those overzealous cops, so we can have an incentive to get her on our side.”
When did Jones get so cynical? He spent too much time with Mozzie these past few weeks.
“It won’t be necessary. If we want her on our side, we’ll convince her.”
“What do you have in mind?”
“You tell me Casanova.”
Neal flashed one of his smiles that had women melt, but it did nothing to conquer the audience in the room, or Diana who appeared behind them.
“I found something. Apparently, Castle’s no stranger to the force. He’s been working for the NYPD as a consultant.”
“Wow! Law enforcement knows how to pick their CIs. An ex-con, a novelist. What’s next a medium?”
“Feeling threatened Caffrey?”
“Wait, there’s more. You’re not gonna like it. Castle’s supervisor. It’s detective Beckett.”
* * *
Kate was observing the board, trying to get an idea where to start the investigation. So far, they hadn’t reunited that much evidence. Dead bodies turned up every day in New York, and within the first hour of discovery, they had enough material to find a direction. Solving a murder consisted in placing the pieces of the puzzle together. Today, though, she had a problem: parts of it were missing. White space occupied most of the board. She hoped that her colleagues would succeed in finding the information she requested. Monday murders had a way to put her in a bad mood for the week. Statistics showed an escalation of crimes during weekends. Whenever possible, she tried to recharge on Sundays aware that extra work would pile up on her desk the next day.
Before the mysterious murder of the morning, her boss had called her as reinforcements in a hostage situation with casualties. She had driven all the way to the other side of the city only to meet a uniform who had told her they had the situation under control, and although they appreciated her coming, they did not need her assistance. After an hour stuck in early Manhattan traffic, she had reached the next crime scene, the one FBI agents had reported. That information had brought her disposition to a level she rarely reached on her personal scale of annoyance. Feds always pretended they would cooperate, and after they got what they needed, claimed the case their own without a word of acknowledgement for the work the police had pulled off.
Even looking from a different angle-her desk chair-did not bring the illumination she had hoped. Numbness took hold of her tights and she stood to stretch her legs despite the inkling that pacing would only exacerbate her irritation. Arms crossed over her chest, she stopped in front of the board and fixed the photos of the victim CSI agents had taken at the crime scene. Talk to me! How foolish was she? Did she try to converse with objects, now? She noticed Ryan standing at her side. She must have looked lost in concentration for him not to interrupt her.
“What do you have?” she asked, reaching for the file he was holding.
“Not much. The apartment building complex. Well, it’s mostly rental. I talked to the real estate agency. Nothing out of the ordinary these past few weeks.”
“Can we have the list of the last persons who rented it?”
“We can but the manager asked for a warrant.”
“Of course, he did!”
“I already put in a request.”
“Good. Anything else?”
“Yes. They’re under contract with a cleaning company. I joined the supervisor on the phone. He’ll check the schedule. I’m waiting for the names of the employees that were in charge of apartment 7B. I asked for the entire floor, just in case someone saw something unusual.”
“I doubt they’ll talk to us. If they saw something, they’d have come forward by now.”
“Probably. Unless they need an incentive.”
“Hope you’re right. Just keep me posted, okay.”
He nodded and darted off to his desk. Kate grabbed the marker to write down Ryan’s findings. Castle had once explained to her how he had solved a big plot hole by jotting down everything that came to mind, and staring at it. She hoped her eureka moment would take less time than Castle’s, which came months after he had first formulated his problem.
Now, she could admire the word ‘rental’ next to 7B. Esposito coming to her lit her face. She anticipated his discovery-the victim’s name, the crucial element they missed to launch the investigation.
“So, who is he?” she said pointing at pictures on the board.
“Our vic.”
“Tell me something I don’t know, Esposito!”
“I’m afraid I can’t. His prints are not in the database. No luck in missing persons reports, either.”
Kate heaved out a sigh, and inscribed John Doe in capital letters. “Okay. That doesn’t help.”
“Maybe the FBI guys would know more.”
She looked at Esposito whose eyes danced around his file in a futile attempt to hide his embarrassment. He was not successful in finding Intel this time, but he had a point. She had to contact the FBI agent who had called in the murder. She hated admitting defeat so soon, but over the years, experience had taught her to disregard her own feelings and make a priority in finding the truth. If it implied cooperate with the feds, then so be it! One question remained: would they accept to lend their support to her team in the investigation?
As she went back to her desk to get down to calling them herself, wishing they would pick up-aware that her rudeness of their first encounter might have caused a prejudice against her-the ringing of the phone startled her. Could they have had the same idea, and decided to make the first step? She picked up right away. “Beckett?” She recognized Lannie’s voice straight away, and the tension that made her hands clammy started to dissipate. She had an important discovery to share. Kate welcomed the news with great relief. Not only did she have a concrete lead, but she would also not arrive with an empty file at the FBI’s offices. First the morgue, then the Feds.
“Let’s go, guys”, she said, standing up and donning her jacket. “We’re heading down to the morgue. Lannie has something peculiar to show us.”
“Too bad Castle’s not here. Sounds like one of the cases he’d like.”
“Have you heard about him lately?”
“No. You?”
“Nah! What about you, Boss?”
When they reached the elevator, Beckett pressed the button. How slow was it today? She pressed it a few times as if it would make it come faster. In her eagerness, she paid little attention to Ryan and Esposito’s conversation, but noticed the ringing of her desk phone. Whoever they were, they would have to call back, or try her cell line. She could not afford losing more time.
“Didn’t he seem preoccupied to you Friday?”
“Now that you mention it. Yeah. Off his game. Less excited, more silent.”
“Must have something to do with his kid.”
“Or with a woman.”
“Or a kid woman.”
Esposito chuckled and he and Ryan high-fived at Ryan’s quip. She could not contain her own amusement. Castle had been known to have that type of problems in the past.
“See that small smile, Javi. She knows something.”
She turned to look at them, beaming-a distraction to get them off her case.
“Whatever it is, it must be important. He didn’t bother show up.”
“Nor did he answer the phone. I tried twice. I reached voice mail.”
“Don’t get too upset, boys. It’s Castle. He only shows up for the good part.”
They seemed to agree with that fact.
“Still, I’m curious to know what made him so un-castle-y.”
“Okay.” She caved in. “He was anxious about a dentist’s appointment.”
They exchanged a quick glance, and could not contain hilarity.
“How do you know?”
“I don’t like dentists either.”
To Kate’s satisfaction, the elevator ding put an end to the conversation. The doors slid open revealing three men and a woman, visitor labels tucked on the pockets of their jackets. Although they looked familiar, it took Kate a few seconds to recognize them. The FBI badge the older of the men-she guessed the one in charge-brandished under her nose finished refreshing her memory.
Their unexpected visit caught her off guard, and a wave of panic took hold of her. She had to stall-not yet ready to acknowledge her investigation was at a standstill. Trying to measure the quantity of information in their possession might give her team an advantage.
Aware of the faux pas she had made on their first encounter by treating them like rookies, and sending them away like street traders who annoy more than attract, she offered Agent Burke her hand to shake, and a smile she hoped contained enough sincerity.
To her relief, his expression inspired her generosity, and understanding. Could it mark the beginning of their collaboration?
“Hello, Agent Burke,” she said, nodding greetings to his cohort.
“Hello again, Detective.”
His eyes darted around the room, searching for something or… someone. Her instincts did not betray her.
“We’re looking for Mr. Castle.”
“Castle?” She did not expect such a request. Questions piled up in her mind. ‘What did he do?’ came first. He did not report to the precinct in the morning. He did not call. He did not warn them he would not come or call. Although Castle had quirks, disappearing without a trace seemed rather out of character. She considered the possibility that he had lost himself in the twirls of inspiration.
“What did he do?” She did not expect an answer, but Burke to bring up confidentiality as a way to dodge a reply.
“Mr. Castle filed a complaint for plagiarism, which I’m investigating. We were hoping to ask him a few questions.”
“Well, you’re out of luck. He’s not here.”
“Do you know where he is?”
“I’m sorry, but I don’t. I’m not his mother!” Her eagerness to join Lannie caused her sharpness to reappear. She winced at her retort, but Burke did not react, and she admired his calm, and politeness.
“Do you know who would know?”
“His mother.” This time she figured he believed she meant to mock him. How could she blame him? She had been out of her league these past few weeks. “I mean, she lives in his penthouse.”
“Oh!”
“Do you want the address?”
“Come on, Detective. Don’t you think we’re capable of finding it by ourselves?”
She shook her head, realizing the cautiousness she would need to muster to communicate with that man, as he had a greater than average propensity to misinterpret her words. “No, I don’t imply that-”
“Relax! I know you don’t. I’m just teasing you.”
“Oh!”
“Peter, and his acute sense of humor! Spend some time with him, and you’ll see how funny he can get!” The man in the hat said. She sensed the irony in his voice. Playful banter, she guessed.
Her cell phone buzzed and vibrated in her pocket, and her detective impulse took over. “Beckett.” How ludicrous! Answering by her name on her cell!
“What’s taking you so long?” Lannie sounded irritated. “Do I send you the report, instead?”
“No, I’m on my way.” She ended the call.
“You’re expected somewhere.”
“Yes. At the morgue.”
“All right. We won’t take up anymore of your time, but if you see Mr. Castle, please tell him to contact us as soon as possible.”
“We’ll do.”
She pressed the elevator button, and the door opened, avoiding them the awkwardness of staring at one another in silence for a minute. She could not tell if the seven of them could fit inside, so she offered their guests to use it first. They declined, and they packed in the compartment. Tucked in a corner, her left side touched the female agent’s back, Dina, Donna, whatever her name was. Kate moved to face the doorway, and found herself inches from a neck, and a hat. He smelled nice but expensive. When they reached the first floor, they stepped out one by one.
They headed for the main entrance, but as they were reaching the exit, Kate called after them.
“Burke. Interested to come along? The coroner’s got info on the body you called in this morning.”
Kate had meant to show her good will, and never predicted for one second that he would accept.
When they arrived at the medical examiner’s offices, Lannie was waiting for her. She did not imagine Kate would bring company. Ryan and Esposito had turned back to talk to the employees from the cleaning company, and Burke had sent his two colleagues at Castle’s place and ordered them to get him back to the Bureau-his words-for a quick interview.
While they walked to the morgue, Burke’s shadow had tried to sweet-talk her into getting information about Castle and she realized that she was dealing with Neal Caffrey, a con artist turned FBI consultant.
They entered the room where the body rested. Lannie, in her blue outfits, did not comment on the non-allowed personnel presence. Kate knew she could count on her to keep it quiet.
“Contrary to my first belief, your vic wasn’t shot.”
“Are you sure?” Burke stood three foot away from the table, a handkerchief over his nose, as if to hide a retch, or avoid germs. She had no other explanation to offer: either Burke had a profound repulsion for lifeless human flesh or a hypochondriac hid in the big man that he was.
Lannie did not take it too well. She did not like people questioning her work. She narrowed her eyes, and looked straight at him. “I am sure.”
Turning back to Kate, she pursued, “He was stabbed. You’re looking at a sharp object, with a triangular end.”
“Interesting,” Kate voiced in a breath.
Neal Caffrey, unlike his handler, found the vision fascinating, his head bent over the wound, eyes wide open and shining, as if studying a precious and ancient artifact.
Kate pointed at the lesion. “What’s the blue discoloration underneath the skin? A tattoo?”
“I doubt it,” Neal said, “or the worst tattoo artist in the world made it!”
“Given that it’s inches away from his tattoo, no.”
Peter Burke had abdicated and stood in a corner of the room. Men and their need to keep a straight face and appear strong in all situations in order to impress!
Lannie knew how to keep them in suspense. “It’s ink, blue ink, the kind you write with.”
Kate frowned. “Pardon me!”
“A fountain pen is your murder weapon.”
*
They parted after Lannie’s autopsy report-an implicit half-time when both teams need to regroup and strategize on their next move. More than surprise, concern dominated Kate’s frame of mind. She had seen Burke and Caffrey exchange a glance, one she did not like. Did they suspect Castle? She was no FBI, but she could put two and two together. A man involved in a plagiarism investigation and stabbed with a pen. Geez, it had the oddity of one of Castle’s plots! She loved reading murder mysteries, but that one she would have to solve on her own without any help from Derek Storm or the author who brought him to existence.
When she went back to the station, she would brief Esposito and Ryan, and set a brainstorming session. She welcomed all theories at this time. Once she reappeared at the precinct, a surprise awaited her: one she did not expect: Castle contemplating the board, lost in his thoughts.
“Castle!” She said with both determination and confusion.
“Hey Beckett! I see we have a good mystery on our hands, and you know how I love those.”
“Where have you been?”
“So it’s all we know so far? No murder weapon?” He said, ignoring her question on purpose, she could tell.
“As a matter of fact, I’ve just gotten the coroner’s report.” She took the marker and wrote down on the board ‘fountain pen’.
Castle inspected it, and looked at her in an expression close to bewilderment. His eyes danced around the words and jumped from one to the other as a hurdler took a hurdle.
“It’s too good to be true. A man stabbed with a pen in a plagiarism investigation! It’s so odd it could be one of my plots.”
“You don’t say!”
Her revelation would soon dampen his enthusiasm. She made him sit down, which took as much convincing as getting a small child eat broccoli, and with all the tact she could muster told him the truth.
He had to repeat it aloud to absorb the news. “The FBI found that body investigating MY copyright infringement case.”
“Yes.” She tried to add softness to her voice to bring him reassurance.
“I can’t believe it.” He sounded and looked dumbfounded.
“I understand it’s hard to take in. They came by this morning looking for you. Agents showed up at your place.”
“Wow!”
“I promised to contact Agent Burke if I saw you.”
“Wait what did you say? Agent Peter Burke, from the White Collar crime division?”
She nodded, unsure what he meant.
“It’s amazing!” Why did he sound like he won the lottery?
“You don’t understand Castle. I think you’re their prime suspect.”
“And that’s an honor!” He grabbed the phone and handed it over to Beckett. “What are you waiting for? Call them right away. Tell them I surrender. Oh, and tell him to bring Neal Caffrey. I assume he’s still working for the Bureau, right?”
In shock, Beckett picked up the receiver and did what he asked.
“You know, Caffrey’s like a magician, and a romantic one at that. That’s how Burke got him. Twice. They caught him by sitting in on his girlfriend. And it worked! I guess even the best con artist has a weakness.”
Castle spoke about Caffrey with such passion that Kate listened, engrossed like in one of his novels.
“I once worked on a heist plot, and needed some information on forgeries. I took a criminology class, and guess what?... Caffrey was on the syllabus!”
“What a coincidence!” Kate offered.
“You wanna know the irony? The teacher, Burke and Caffrey arrested him as he was fencing art forgeries. Cause you know, Caffrey’s a forger, and a remarkable one at that. He forged bonds.”
She nodded.
“Yes, Madam. They arrested him on that count. The FBI even nicknamed him James Bonds!”
“How cute is that?”
“I know, right?”
Kate feared that Castle did not get the measure of the troubles in which he put himself. She hoped he had a solid alibi for the weekend, or she feared he would finish the day in an orange jumpsuit.
Read part 2.
Author: semisweetsoul Art by the lovely aragarna Her master post.
Fandom: White Collar & Castle.
Characters: All the ones you like! Neal, Peter, Diana, Jones, Beckett, Esposito, Ryan, Lannie and of course Castle!
Genre: Case fic.
Rating: PG.
Word Count: 13,019 words
Summary: Castle's latest manuscript surfaces on the Internet. The copyright infringement file ends up on the White Collar division, on Peter Burke's desk after a call from the mayor. It doesn't take long for Peter's team to get a lead, but when Peter and Diana arrives at the suspect's apartment, they're too late. You can't arrest a dead body. When they want to interrogate Castle, he's nowhere to be found. Suspicion arises. Beckett has prove his innocence before his life and reputation are destroyed.
Spoilers: None that I can think of. Mentions of canon events.
Disclaimer: I owe nothing. Please, don't sue.
A/N: This fic is the product of my imagination stirred by this lovely art. Written for the wc-reverse-bb. Many thanks to the mods for their patience and availability, and to my artist. Hope you enjoy the story. This is my first dive into the Castle fandom. I intend to post this to the AO3, once I let it simmer a bit and edit it again. Please point out what you like and dislike (including grammar errors and strange syntax and such) to help me progress. Happy reading! Cheers :)
Read part 2.
WHITE HEAT
Hughes barging in the conference room and giving Peter the double finger point did not bode well. On second thoughts, it might have come as a stroke of luck, and provide the miracle that would put an end to the boredom that had stolen Neal over since the meeting had started. Diana, Jones, Peter and the experts Peter had invited talked technicalities. FBI lingo sometimes did not make much sense to Neal, yet he had more knowledge in law than one could imagine.
While Diana and Jones maintained their composure, and their attention to their visitors and offered them refreshments, Neal observed the new development. Peter stepped outside and closed the door behind him. Hughes bore one of his serious postures, lips tight and arms crossed over his chest. The Grim Reaper would appear cheerier! Neal did not want to miss a second of their discussion behind the glass doors-a silent movie in Technicolor. Whatever the topic, Peter tensed up and protested. Hughes patted him on the shoulder, either to win him over or thank him for the favor he was asking or both, and stuck the files he had been holding into Peter’s hands, not too displeased to part with it. Their exchange lasted less than five minutes. Peter reentered, not bothering to close the door this time-the noises of the bullpen breaking the barrier his exit had built in the room. He did not sit back. Neal, who had some practice in lip-reading, could swear Peter whispered ‘I can’t believe this!’
His hands on his hips, Peter straightened up. “Listen, gentlemen. Unfortunately, I have to cut off this meeting. Thank you for coming. We will contact you as soon as possible.”
They stood up, gathered their briefcases and coats, and Peter escorted them in the corridor where Hannah the newest trainee whose demeanor made Neal think of Kate, waited for them.
“What’s going on, boss?” Diana asked fire in her voice. Neal did sympathize. He knew the feeling, working so hard on a case, spending days and nights in the van, waiting to catch the thieves red-handed, and for some obscure reason, the boss put it on hold.
Peter sat down, and undid his tie, as if he needed oxygen. “The case has been reassigned.”
Diana sprang up from her own chair, banging her fists on the table. “What? This is a joke, right?”
“I’m afraid not. Ramirez will take it from here.”
Her usual passive-aggressive side had turned into anger in the first degree. “This isn’t fair, Peter. We’ve laid all the groundwork!”
He looked hard at Diana, not used to such vehemence on her part, and retorted, “If you want to follow on the case, and make sure the other team makes the arrests by the book, I have no objections. I can arrange for you to join Ramirez’s team if that’s what you want.”
She pondered for a moment, and slumped back on her chair-a ragged doll abandoned for a brand new toy. “No, boss. It’s fine.” Diana sulked; arms folded, eyes raised-a nice Mozzie impersonation, although Neal would keep that thought to himself. No need to awake the sulking beast!
Neal had not wanted to speak so far, but stress rose in the pit of his stomach; the suspense was killing him. Hughes must have had a good reason. What would warrant the best team in their department to hand over such an important case? His duty to partake in their capture and put an end to their actions did not taint the admiration he felt for them. They deserved an award for ingenuity! They targeted movers’ trucks, and after five hits, the value of their larceny amounted to an estimated seven billion dollars. Paintings, sculptures, musical instruments, timepieces or jewelry-to list some of their objects of choice-never reached their owners’ new residences.
At first, Peter suspected the moving company. After a week into infiltration, Jones had gathered enough evidence to prove their honesty. They enlisted June’s help, got the word out some valuable items would change location, and after following the convoy, all her belongings arrived in one piece. No attempted robbery to lament! Bad call! Either the burglars had heard the FBI had made them, or Peter and his team were looking in the wrong direction.
It took another week of heavy digging on Diana’s part to realize this was a simple case of insurance fraud. Her eureka moment-yelling ‘Gotcha! Bastards!’-still resonated in many a pair of ears in the White Collar personnel. She had rushed into Peter’s office, where he was talking with Neal, and ran her theory past them. Owners hired a hit team that stole their possessions; they split the insurance money in half. She had convinced a rich investor to come forward and testify after a woman had approached him, hearing of his impending departure to Europe. He had feigned not understanding, but feared they would attempt to steal from him nonetheless in retaliation. They were about to get his statement when Hughes interrupted them.
As he opened his mouth to ask the question that burned his tongue, Neal heard Jones beat him to the punch.
“So, what’s the new case about?”
At least, now it was out. Neal awaited the answer, the anticipation exciting. Good to know someone else, did, too. Let it be something intriguing, something interesting, something challenging! He needed to get out of the office and go outside, breathe the New York air instead of the stale one of the offices. The tension of these past weeks had put pressure on Peter who had relegated him to a role of quiet consultant-the Bernardo to his Zorro. For the first time, Neal understood Mozzie’s favorite anklet metaphor. Never had Neal felt so close to a dog on a leash. He followed Peter around and obeyed his commands. His treat came in the form of the authorization to leave work an hour before anyone else. He would not have chosen any other means to get rid of him. Most would have taken this reward in a positive light. Most except Neal. He felt useless. Peter did not need his services anymore. Maybe this new case was a good opportunity to remind Peter he was an asset more than a burden.
Peter was rummaging around the papers scattered on the table to find the file Hughes had given him. His annoyance made him lose his cool; several pages fell on the carpet and a sheet flew under the table. Neal hurried to help. He kneeled and once located, stretched his arm to reach for it. He reappeared at Peter’s side feeling much like a magician’s assistant after a vanishing act. Peter grabbed the document and secured it in the folder without even addressing to Neal a word or gesture by way of thanks for his assistance. One more blow to his pride. If this did not work, maybe confrontation would.
“So, Peter, this must be high profile for Hughes to let us drop the case to Ramirez.”
Peter hardly ever let his feelings show-a well-trained FBI agent programmed to internalize his fears and never disclose top-secret information. However, the safety of the Bureau’s premises and the sole presence of colleagues he trusted allowed him to let his guard down.
“Well, it is according to the mayor!”
Poor Peter! Someone so respectful of ethics, someone who had reached his position through hard work, someone who could not stand string-pulling-he despised the practice-had to work a case that went from bottom to top of the pile after a simple phone call from Mr. the Mayor.
If Peter thought irony worked in this case Diana, on the other hand, had a direct way to voice her opinion, “I hate it when politicians meddle in our business!”
“Diana!”
She did not expect Peter’s objection, but as she saw he did not find the whole situation amusing, she uttered two simple words, “Sorry, Boss.”
“Anyway. You want to know what it’s all about?”
“Yes, please!” Jones’s enthusiasm surprised Neal. Did someone reassign their usual behavior at random? He was the enthusiastic one, or he thought so as he could not recall even one instance of Jones showing such sentiment.
“The top priority case that has all our attention from this moment on, and until we bring the guilty parties to justice is… drum roll…” Peter let a second pass for dramatic effect, “a copyright infringement case!”
“You gotta be kidding me!” The revelation brought Diana’s exasperation to a head. She looked like she was about to explode. At least, Neal knew how to use a fire extinguisher.
“I know this isn’t what you expected but the sooner we solve this one, the better the chance to get our old case back.”
Everyone working in the White Collar division hated copyright infringement cases. So much paperwork, too little result. At least, it had the merit to pique Neal’s interest.
“Ever heard of Richard Castle?”
“The novelist?” Diana’s weariness vanished in a flash. A rainbow replaced the storm of her face in an instant. Neal believed he had detected the typical signs of admiration.
Peter nodded.
“What about him?” Jones asked.
“Someone broke into his apartment and stole the computer containing his latest manuscript.”
“Umm, is it still a manuscript when it’s typed?” Jones expressed an interesting point of view. “Well, technically, it’s not handwritten so….”
Neal had a feeling Peter omitted a few details on purpose. The official version felt off. “Can’t local PD investigate a breaking and entering? What do they need the FBI for?”
“Cause it’s Castle. And he’s good friend with the mayor.” Neal detected a touch of irony in Jones’s voice.
“Castle’s smart. I’m sure he made backups.” Diana had appointed herself his advocate.
“Unless there’s more to the story than what you told us, Peter.”
He hesitated to answer. He threw a glance in the direction of the entrance to make sure no extra pair of eyes or ears could spy on them. Neal feeling a sudden chill, stood up, and closed the door. To show he appreciated his presence of mind, Peter approved Neal’s initiative and sent him a discreet nod this time.
“Neal’s right,” Peter said his voice only audible. “It’s the only missing item. Nothing else was taken, and given that he’s wealthy, whoever did it was after something stored in that computer.”
“Or was offered a good price.” Neal wished anyone else but, he, the con artist, ex-forger had made that remark. When you lived of illegal jobs, the money could lend weight to a decision.
“Do we know how they did it?” Diana asked.
“That’s the mysterious part. Nothing is out of the ordinary in the surveillance cameras’ footage. Neighbors did not see or hear anything.”
“What was to be heard, anyway?” Neal added, “Discretion is key to a good theft.”
Jones had taken the police report and was perusing it. His bland expression implied the information it contained had not much value.
“I can’t believe we’ve dropped the best case in a while to find back some writer’s laptop.” Like love and hate, the frontier between admiration and condemnation hung by a thread. Diana would soon migrate to the other side.
“That’s not the problem. Someone is releasing parts of Castle’s manuscript online, and passing it as their own.”
“Why would someone do that? I don’t get it! It makes sense that people would notice and report the story as Castle’s.”
“Maybe whoever did it wants the fans to think he’s Castle, and impersonate him for a while, get a taste at living the life of a famous author.”
“Why not pick a rock star, then?” Neal disagreed with Jones’s theory. “Sounds like much trouble for no result. They could have taken anything from that apartment, but they targeted one specific object.”
“Yes, I agree. It think it’s something else. He would not bother to change the names of the protagonists, and the locations of the plot.”
“What if it were the contrary?”
Peter’s brow furrowed, confusion etched on his face. “Go ahead, I’m listening.”
Neal ventured a guess. “He posts a novel. Then, Castle releases a new thriller. The person comes forward and files a complaint against Castle claiming he stole his idea, and exposes Castle as a fraud, instilling doubt on his readership. Castle loses credibility. His sells drop. Worst-case scenario, he’s found guilty of plagiarism, and his career ends.”
“Good thinking Caffrey, maybe you should be writing novels, too.”
“If you’re right, Neal, his plan failed. We know about him posting copyrighted material. The techs are trying to track the server he or she used to post the last chapter as we speak. It should restrict us to an area in the city. We track them down, arrest them, read them their rights, Hughes and the Mayor are happy, and I can relax a bit.”
“What if he left the state or the country?”
“If he’d run away, he would have posted the whole thing and wouldn’t bother posting a chapter a day…”
“The Feds not far away….” Neal said, and caught sight of the corner of Peter’s mouth turning into a smile, the Burke’s way of expressing amusement. At least, Peter still appreciated his sense of humor.
“So boss, how do you suggest we proceed?” Diana asked all her fieriness and energy ready to burst through the door. She, the knight coming to the rescue of, he, the poor Castle in distress.
* * *
It did not take long for the FBI to identify the origin of the transfer. Their findings pointed at amateurish work. Securing the files to two different servers did not suffice to fool officers familiar with most hacking techniques. By next morning, the operation was in place. Diana and Peter in vests and navy blue jackets FBI flocked set a perimeter around the apartment whose IP address corresponded to that of the suspect. Neal and Jones waited in an unmarked car, in case he attempted to run away. Letting him vanish in the streets of New York would delay their main objective, get their interesting case back from Ramirez. Peter had asked NYPD cruisers to patrol in the area to make sure they were covered. No way would they let him take to his heels!
Peter first went through the building of the well-secured apartment complex, Diana following close behind. The super provided the door code required to cross the entryway. While a team secured the stairs and made sure it would not serve as an exit route, they took the elevator to the seventh floor. They exited on light feet, arms stretched, weapons at the ready, discretion a key element in their endeavor. Never were they too careful. Peter signaled his moves to Diana, who shook her head in awareness. They tiptoed toward the end of the corridor until they reached apartment 7B. Peter knocked and in a loud voice announced their presence with the set formula, “FBI! Open the door!”
Nothing. Not a movement, not a sound. Peter hesitated. Diana waited for his instructions, but he had few options. He decided to call again. “FBI! Open the door!”
Still nothing. Three minutes had passed. Through his earpiece, the surveillance team from the van gave him the latest developments, desperately similar as their situation upstairs.
He had no choice. They had to force the access. He caught Diana’s eyes, and pointed a finger to the door. Three. Two. One. Go. They bumped the weight of their bodies into the wood panel that crashed open.
Peter clung to his revolver and the same three words, “FBI! Show yourself!” He went right; Diana left. They progressed through the apartment, door after door, room after room. Its dimension left no doubt whatsoever that the person living there had the means, and explained why he had left Castle’s place untouched save for the computer.
Peter’s instincts screamed that they were too late. He had no idea how that could be since he had taken all the precautions to make sure the fewest people knew about the raid they had planned. He let his guard down, certain they had wasted time, energy and police workforce, when Diana found something.
“Peter, come to the kitchen. Quick.”
He trotted along a dark corridor, and emerged into the kitchen, his eyes closing in reflex at the sparkling sunrays that reflected on the metal countertop.
“Look, Boss.” Diana aimed her gun at the kitchen cabinet to a stain red in color. “Bloody fingertips.”
Peter knew this type of situation could happen in his line of work, yet blood made him ill at ease and the smell of a corpse queasy. The moment he had stepped into the kitchen, he had felt his stomach turn. It did not betray him. A man lay on the floor as he had fallen down, the upper half of his body in the pantry, the lower in the kitchen. Despite the voice in his head that urged Peter to look away, a morbid curiosity took the upper hand, and he glanced at the person he had come to apprehend, if only to make sure a mistaken identity case would not enlarge his caseload.
“Now, we know why he was silent!”
Peter did not listen to Diana. Not only were his insides churning, but a massive headache had also joined the party. He did not need extra work and worries: reporting to Hughes, dealing with the NYPD, and solving the case. They would need help. Serious help.
He went back a few steps and sat down on a sofa, far away from the crime scene. He would not let a cop blame him for tempering with the evidence.
“Diana!”
“Yeah, boss?”
“Have Jones call the NYPD, and the coroner’s office, then meet us up here.”
“Will do!” She drew her cell phone and left to where the reception worked best. Peter could hear her pass his orders on to Jones. She reappeared in front of him and hunkered down next to the couch. “You need anything, Peter? You look pale.”
“I’m fine. I’m fine, Diana. Don’t worry about me.” Peter tried to stand up, but his legs tottered. Cushions softened his collapse. He closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. When he reopened them, Diana was holding a glass of water, and a cereal bar.
“There, eat this. To increase your blood sugar levels.”
He did not dare say no, and despite being her boss, and the one in charge, he did what she advised.
Jones arrived soon enough, with Neal on toe.
“He wouldn’t stay alone in the car.”
“You bet he didn’t!”
“Hey, would you?”
“Enough, boys! Now, I need you to sweep up the place, and find anything you can before NYPD arrives, and throws us away.”
“Good enough.”
Jones took the bedroom while Neal kept an eye on him in the living-room. Peter supposed Diana had told Jones about his little discomfort. Neal must have overheard and had come to check out if he was all right, unless he could not bear the idea of sitting in the car one more minute, dying from boredom.
Neal inspected the premises and marveled at its expensive furniture-the mahogany bookcase and the row of ornaments that composed its decoration. Peter was no expert like Neal or Elizabeth, but he could tell someone had taken great care into placing each object in the right place, though he doubted the man had died for forgetting where the dishware belonged.
When Peter felt better, he joined his team in inspecting the apartment. It appeared that no one had occupied any of the five bedrooms in quite some time. White sheets covered the beds, and the closets and drawers were empty. The general state of the penthouse let Peter suspect a housekeeper came once or twice a week to dust and water the plants. He would ask the super in case he detained that information. Maybe one of them would know of any suspicious activity, although he did not have much hope. Squatters knew the basic rules to pass unnoticed, and make sure no one would take note of their presence, yet the turn of events showed it had failed this time.
A woman brandishing her detective plate right before his eyes stopped him mid-thoughts. “Detective Beckett. NYPD homicide. What do we have, here?”
It took a second for Peter to register she was addressing him, as she stood straight, her eyes scanning the room, making no attempt at some formal introduction, no handshake, no acquiescence, no nothing. Behind, Neal and Jones were talking to a man wearing a leather jacket, while Diana indicated the kitchen to the coroner’s assistants.
“Sir? Are you all right?”
“I am. I’m sorry. Special Agent Peter Burke. FBI. White Collar crime division.”
Peter did not expect any other reaction, but the frowning face she offered him after he stated his status. He dealt with fraud in general not death, and his presence here seemed contradictory and counterproductive even though, to some extent, he was the police. Above the police even.
“Can you brief me?”
One of her lieutenant approached. “It’s okay, boss. I got the story from agent Jones, here.”
She threw a quick glance at him, more out of politeness than real interest.
“Perfect, thanks Esposito.”
Diana came back from the kitchen, another police lieutenant in her steps. “Lannie’s waiting for you,” he said, acknowledging Peter’s presence with a small nod.
“I’m coming in a sec.” She turned back to Peter. “We’ll take it over from here. We’ll contact you later for your deposition and further questioning, if you don’t mind.”
“No, we don’t. We’ll keep in touch. It is in both our benefit to cooperate on this investigation, to find the guilty parties and brought them to justice.”
Before she could agree or disagree, she had disappeared into the corridor, her squad on her trail.
Once alone in the living room with his teammates, Peter’s indignation subsided. He did not imagine such distance and coldness from the police. They shared common interest. Why not help each other out? Since they were persona non grata at the scene, he opted to go back to the Bureau and regroup. Setting forth their findings and leads worth exploring could get them to move in the right direction. The more evidence they gathered, the more Detective Beckett would have to take them seriously. She must be capable, but he was ahead in terms of seniority, and experience, and … civility, as it appeared.
Back in the conference room, Peter had to face the facts. Saying them aloud might facilitate the forming of a plan of action. “We went to take our suspect into custody, but found him dead. Most likely a bullet wound.”
“Are you sure? Did you get the coroner’s report, already?” Neal asked.
“No need to. Trust us on this one Caffrey.” Diana made a face, hiding her retch with the palm of her hand.
He knew the feeling. Visions of the body stretched out in a pool of blood flashed before his eyes and obstructed his thoughts. “Don’t worry, Neal. They will forward it to us. We’ll pester them until they do, or I’ll go get it myself.”
Neal settled into the back of his chair, eyes on his papers trying to pretend the reproach did not hurt him by doodling. He must believe he appeared relax doing so, but Peter knew how to distinguish a carefree attitude from a forced one. They had spent the last few years working together. What did he expect? Peter regretted the acidity in the tone of his voice, but he found the detective’s manners hard to swallow, and the chances of closing the assurance fraud case grow slimmer.
“I didn’t mean it like that. I’m sorry.”
Neal offered him a small smile. “Never mind. I understand you’re under a lot of stress. Have you ever tried yoga? I know a good teacher.”
“Thanks but no thanks. Doesn’t Mozzie have any important business to attend, anyway?”
“I didn’t say it was Moz.” Peter questioned that statement by maintaining eye contact. “Well, he’s a good teacher. You’d be surprised.”
“It’s okay, really. I know how to relax. El gives these incredible massages that-”
Faced with three pairs of eluding eyes, Peter’s self-consciousness told him to shorten his tale; the boss’s recollection of intimate moments with the Mrs. did not please his colleagues to hear.
“Beckett upsets you.”
He answered by turning his back to Neal. If his eyes gave him away, he should avoid looking at him, or pretend a case of conjunctivitis and invest in a pair of sunglasses.
“The detective. She barely considered you. How dare she ignore the FBI like that? You should’ve stood up for yourself, Peter.”
“Yep. I saw it, too. I know the type. Probably a bad case of hot girl syndrome.”
“What do you mean?” Neal asked.
“You know. The kind of girls who are hot, and know it, and takes everything and everyone for granted.”
“So, you found her hot! Uh.”
Peter could only imagine the big grin painted on Neal’s face.
“Come on, Caffrey! Like you didn’t!” Diana was laughing, now.
“She had a certain je-ne-sais-quoi. Catwoman-like.” Now, Jones butted in on the topic using vocabulary reminiscent of Mozzie’s.
Peter decided to intervene. “Maybe she was under a lot of stress or in a hurry. We can’t know for sure; it’s not important. What is, however, is our case.” Their renewed attention to his words calmed his frustration.
“What do you want us to do, Boss?”
“Well, Diana, I think it’s time we dig into Castle’s life.”
“Sure, I’m on it. Do I call him in for an interview?”
“I thought about it, but I’m afraid he lawyers up. I’d rather interrogate him myself than talk to an attorney.”
She stood up, and left to her office desk, ready to dig up anything she could find.
“You want to surprise him.”
“Yes. Think it’ll work?”
“Well, it worked for me!”
“Except you knew it was a trap-”
“-and I chose to fall into it.”
“Think he’ll guess it’s a trap?”
“Well, he writes crime novels. He’s one step ahead of us.”
“How so?”
“He knows who did it before anyone else does.”
“What about Beckett? I could look into her. Just in case she’s one of those overzealous cops, so we can have an incentive to get her on our side.”
When did Jones get so cynical? He spent too much time with Mozzie these past few weeks.
“It won’t be necessary. If we want her on our side, we’ll convince her.”
“What do you have in mind?”
“You tell me Casanova.”
Neal flashed one of his smiles that had women melt, but it did nothing to conquer the audience in the room, or Diana who appeared behind them.
“I found something. Apparently, Castle’s no stranger to the force. He’s been working for the NYPD as a consultant.”
“Wow! Law enforcement knows how to pick their CIs. An ex-con, a novelist. What’s next a medium?”
“Feeling threatened Caffrey?”
“Wait, there’s more. You’re not gonna like it. Castle’s supervisor. It’s detective Beckett.”
* * *
Kate was observing the board, trying to get an idea where to start the investigation. So far, they hadn’t reunited that much evidence. Dead bodies turned up every day in New York, and within the first hour of discovery, they had enough material to find a direction. Solving a murder consisted in placing the pieces of the puzzle together. Today, though, she had a problem: parts of it were missing. White space occupied most of the board. She hoped that her colleagues would succeed in finding the information she requested. Monday murders had a way to put her in a bad mood for the week. Statistics showed an escalation of crimes during weekends. Whenever possible, she tried to recharge on Sundays aware that extra work would pile up on her desk the next day.
Before the mysterious murder of the morning, her boss had called her as reinforcements in a hostage situation with casualties. She had driven all the way to the other side of the city only to meet a uniform who had told her they had the situation under control, and although they appreciated her coming, they did not need her assistance. After an hour stuck in early Manhattan traffic, she had reached the next crime scene, the one FBI agents had reported. That information had brought her disposition to a level she rarely reached on her personal scale of annoyance. Feds always pretended they would cooperate, and after they got what they needed, claimed the case their own without a word of acknowledgement for the work the police had pulled off.
Even looking from a different angle-her desk chair-did not bring the illumination she had hoped. Numbness took hold of her tights and she stood to stretch her legs despite the inkling that pacing would only exacerbate her irritation. Arms crossed over her chest, she stopped in front of the board and fixed the photos of the victim CSI agents had taken at the crime scene. Talk to me! How foolish was she? Did she try to converse with objects, now? She noticed Ryan standing at her side. She must have looked lost in concentration for him not to interrupt her.
“What do you have?” she asked, reaching for the file he was holding.
“Not much. The apartment building complex. Well, it’s mostly rental. I talked to the real estate agency. Nothing out of the ordinary these past few weeks.”
“Can we have the list of the last persons who rented it?”
“We can but the manager asked for a warrant.”
“Of course, he did!”
“I already put in a request.”
“Good. Anything else?”
“Yes. They’re under contract with a cleaning company. I joined the supervisor on the phone. He’ll check the schedule. I’m waiting for the names of the employees that were in charge of apartment 7B. I asked for the entire floor, just in case someone saw something unusual.”
“I doubt they’ll talk to us. If they saw something, they’d have come forward by now.”
“Probably. Unless they need an incentive.”
“Hope you’re right. Just keep me posted, okay.”
He nodded and darted off to his desk. Kate grabbed the marker to write down Ryan’s findings. Castle had once explained to her how he had solved a big plot hole by jotting down everything that came to mind, and staring at it. She hoped her eureka moment would take less time than Castle’s, which came months after he had first formulated his problem.
Now, she could admire the word ‘rental’ next to 7B. Esposito coming to her lit her face. She anticipated his discovery-the victim’s name, the crucial element they missed to launch the investigation.
“So, who is he?” she said pointing at pictures on the board.
“Our vic.”
“Tell me something I don’t know, Esposito!”
“I’m afraid I can’t. His prints are not in the database. No luck in missing persons reports, either.”
Kate heaved out a sigh, and inscribed John Doe in capital letters. “Okay. That doesn’t help.”
“Maybe the FBI guys would know more.”
She looked at Esposito whose eyes danced around his file in a futile attempt to hide his embarrassment. He was not successful in finding Intel this time, but he had a point. She had to contact the FBI agent who had called in the murder. She hated admitting defeat so soon, but over the years, experience had taught her to disregard her own feelings and make a priority in finding the truth. If it implied cooperate with the feds, then so be it! One question remained: would they accept to lend their support to her team in the investigation?
As she went back to her desk to get down to calling them herself, wishing they would pick up-aware that her rudeness of their first encounter might have caused a prejudice against her-the ringing of the phone startled her. Could they have had the same idea, and decided to make the first step? She picked up right away. “Beckett?” She recognized Lannie’s voice straight away, and the tension that made her hands clammy started to dissipate. She had an important discovery to share. Kate welcomed the news with great relief. Not only did she have a concrete lead, but she would also not arrive with an empty file at the FBI’s offices. First the morgue, then the Feds.
“Let’s go, guys”, she said, standing up and donning her jacket. “We’re heading down to the morgue. Lannie has something peculiar to show us.”
“Too bad Castle’s not here. Sounds like one of the cases he’d like.”
“Have you heard about him lately?”
“No. You?”
“Nah! What about you, Boss?”
When they reached the elevator, Beckett pressed the button. How slow was it today? She pressed it a few times as if it would make it come faster. In her eagerness, she paid little attention to Ryan and Esposito’s conversation, but noticed the ringing of her desk phone. Whoever they were, they would have to call back, or try her cell line. She could not afford losing more time.
“Didn’t he seem preoccupied to you Friday?”
“Now that you mention it. Yeah. Off his game. Less excited, more silent.”
“Must have something to do with his kid.”
“Or with a woman.”
“Or a kid woman.”
Esposito chuckled and he and Ryan high-fived at Ryan’s quip. She could not contain her own amusement. Castle had been known to have that type of problems in the past.
“See that small smile, Javi. She knows something.”
She turned to look at them, beaming-a distraction to get them off her case.
“Whatever it is, it must be important. He didn’t bother show up.”
“Nor did he answer the phone. I tried twice. I reached voice mail.”
“Don’t get too upset, boys. It’s Castle. He only shows up for the good part.”
They seemed to agree with that fact.
“Still, I’m curious to know what made him so un-castle-y.”
“Okay.” She caved in. “He was anxious about a dentist’s appointment.”
They exchanged a quick glance, and could not contain hilarity.
“How do you know?”
“I don’t like dentists either.”
To Kate’s satisfaction, the elevator ding put an end to the conversation. The doors slid open revealing three men and a woman, visitor labels tucked on the pockets of their jackets. Although they looked familiar, it took Kate a few seconds to recognize them. The FBI badge the older of the men-she guessed the one in charge-brandished under her nose finished refreshing her memory.
Their unexpected visit caught her off guard, and a wave of panic took hold of her. She had to stall-not yet ready to acknowledge her investigation was at a standstill. Trying to measure the quantity of information in their possession might give her team an advantage.
Aware of the faux pas she had made on their first encounter by treating them like rookies, and sending them away like street traders who annoy more than attract, she offered Agent Burke her hand to shake, and a smile she hoped contained enough sincerity.
To her relief, his expression inspired her generosity, and understanding. Could it mark the beginning of their collaboration?
“Hello, Agent Burke,” she said, nodding greetings to his cohort.
“Hello again, Detective.”
His eyes darted around the room, searching for something or… someone. Her instincts did not betray her.
“We’re looking for Mr. Castle.”
“Castle?” She did not expect such a request. Questions piled up in her mind. ‘What did he do?’ came first. He did not report to the precinct in the morning. He did not call. He did not warn them he would not come or call. Although Castle had quirks, disappearing without a trace seemed rather out of character. She considered the possibility that he had lost himself in the twirls of inspiration.
“What did he do?” She did not expect an answer, but Burke to bring up confidentiality as a way to dodge a reply.
“Mr. Castle filed a complaint for plagiarism, which I’m investigating. We were hoping to ask him a few questions.”
“Well, you’re out of luck. He’s not here.”
“Do you know where he is?”
“I’m sorry, but I don’t. I’m not his mother!” Her eagerness to join Lannie caused her sharpness to reappear. She winced at her retort, but Burke did not react, and she admired his calm, and politeness.
“Do you know who would know?”
“His mother.” This time she figured he believed she meant to mock him. How could she blame him? She had been out of her league these past few weeks. “I mean, she lives in his penthouse.”
“Oh!”
“Do you want the address?”
“Come on, Detective. Don’t you think we’re capable of finding it by ourselves?”
She shook her head, realizing the cautiousness she would need to muster to communicate with that man, as he had a greater than average propensity to misinterpret her words. “No, I don’t imply that-”
“Relax! I know you don’t. I’m just teasing you.”
“Oh!”
“Peter, and his acute sense of humor! Spend some time with him, and you’ll see how funny he can get!” The man in the hat said. She sensed the irony in his voice. Playful banter, she guessed.
Her cell phone buzzed and vibrated in her pocket, and her detective impulse took over. “Beckett.” How ludicrous! Answering by her name on her cell!
“What’s taking you so long?” Lannie sounded irritated. “Do I send you the report, instead?”
“No, I’m on my way.” She ended the call.
“You’re expected somewhere.”
“Yes. At the morgue.”
“All right. We won’t take up anymore of your time, but if you see Mr. Castle, please tell him to contact us as soon as possible.”
“We’ll do.”
She pressed the elevator button, and the door opened, avoiding them the awkwardness of staring at one another in silence for a minute. She could not tell if the seven of them could fit inside, so she offered their guests to use it first. They declined, and they packed in the compartment. Tucked in a corner, her left side touched the female agent’s back, Dina, Donna, whatever her name was. Kate moved to face the doorway, and found herself inches from a neck, and a hat. He smelled nice but expensive. When they reached the first floor, they stepped out one by one.
They headed for the main entrance, but as they were reaching the exit, Kate called after them.
“Burke. Interested to come along? The coroner’s got info on the body you called in this morning.”
Kate had meant to show her good will, and never predicted for one second that he would accept.
When they arrived at the medical examiner’s offices, Lannie was waiting for her. She did not imagine Kate would bring company. Ryan and Esposito had turned back to talk to the employees from the cleaning company, and Burke had sent his two colleagues at Castle’s place and ordered them to get him back to the Bureau-his words-for a quick interview.
While they walked to the morgue, Burke’s shadow had tried to sweet-talk her into getting information about Castle and she realized that she was dealing with Neal Caffrey, a con artist turned FBI consultant.
They entered the room where the body rested. Lannie, in her blue outfits, did not comment on the non-allowed personnel presence. Kate knew she could count on her to keep it quiet.
“Contrary to my first belief, your vic wasn’t shot.”
“Are you sure?” Burke stood three foot away from the table, a handkerchief over his nose, as if to hide a retch, or avoid germs. She had no other explanation to offer: either Burke had a profound repulsion for lifeless human flesh or a hypochondriac hid in the big man that he was.
Lannie did not take it too well. She did not like people questioning her work. She narrowed her eyes, and looked straight at him. “I am sure.”
Turning back to Kate, she pursued, “He was stabbed. You’re looking at a sharp object, with a triangular end.”
“Interesting,” Kate voiced in a breath.
Neal Caffrey, unlike his handler, found the vision fascinating, his head bent over the wound, eyes wide open and shining, as if studying a precious and ancient artifact.
Kate pointed at the lesion. “What’s the blue discoloration underneath the skin? A tattoo?”
“I doubt it,” Neal said, “or the worst tattoo artist in the world made it!”
“Given that it’s inches away from his tattoo, no.”
Peter Burke had abdicated and stood in a corner of the room. Men and their need to keep a straight face and appear strong in all situations in order to impress!
Lannie knew how to keep them in suspense. “It’s ink, blue ink, the kind you write with.”
Kate frowned. “Pardon me!”
“A fountain pen is your murder weapon.”
*
They parted after Lannie’s autopsy report-an implicit half-time when both teams need to regroup and strategize on their next move. More than surprise, concern dominated Kate’s frame of mind. She had seen Burke and Caffrey exchange a glance, one she did not like. Did they suspect Castle? She was no FBI, but she could put two and two together. A man involved in a plagiarism investigation and stabbed with a pen. Geez, it had the oddity of one of Castle’s plots! She loved reading murder mysteries, but that one she would have to solve on her own without any help from Derek Storm or the author who brought him to existence.
When she went back to the station, she would brief Esposito and Ryan, and set a brainstorming session. She welcomed all theories at this time. Once she reappeared at the precinct, a surprise awaited her: one she did not expect: Castle contemplating the board, lost in his thoughts.
“Castle!” She said with both determination and confusion.
“Hey Beckett! I see we have a good mystery on our hands, and you know how I love those.”
“Where have you been?”
“So it’s all we know so far? No murder weapon?” He said, ignoring her question on purpose, she could tell.
“As a matter of fact, I’ve just gotten the coroner’s report.” She took the marker and wrote down on the board ‘fountain pen’.
Castle inspected it, and looked at her in an expression close to bewilderment. His eyes danced around the words and jumped from one to the other as a hurdler took a hurdle.
“It’s too good to be true. A man stabbed with a pen in a plagiarism investigation! It’s so odd it could be one of my plots.”
“You don’t say!”
Her revelation would soon dampen his enthusiasm. She made him sit down, which took as much convincing as getting a small child eat broccoli, and with all the tact she could muster told him the truth.
He had to repeat it aloud to absorb the news. “The FBI found that body investigating MY copyright infringement case.”
“Yes.” She tried to add softness to her voice to bring him reassurance.
“I can’t believe it.” He sounded and looked dumbfounded.
“I understand it’s hard to take in. They came by this morning looking for you. Agents showed up at your place.”
“Wow!”
“I promised to contact Agent Burke if I saw you.”
“Wait what did you say? Agent Peter Burke, from the White Collar crime division?”
She nodded, unsure what he meant.
“It’s amazing!” Why did he sound like he won the lottery?
“You don’t understand Castle. I think you’re their prime suspect.”
“And that’s an honor!” He grabbed the phone and handed it over to Beckett. “What are you waiting for? Call them right away. Tell them I surrender. Oh, and tell him to bring Neal Caffrey. I assume he’s still working for the Bureau, right?”
In shock, Beckett picked up the receiver and did what he asked.
“You know, Caffrey’s like a magician, and a romantic one at that. That’s how Burke got him. Twice. They caught him by sitting in on his girlfriend. And it worked! I guess even the best con artist has a weakness.”
Castle spoke about Caffrey with such passion that Kate listened, engrossed like in one of his novels.
“I once worked on a heist plot, and needed some information on forgeries. I took a criminology class, and guess what?... Caffrey was on the syllabus!”
“What a coincidence!” Kate offered.
“You wanna know the irony? The teacher, Burke and Caffrey arrested him as he was fencing art forgeries. Cause you know, Caffrey’s a forger, and a remarkable one at that. He forged bonds.”
She nodded.
“Yes, Madam. They arrested him on that count. The FBI even nicknamed him James Bonds!”
“How cute is that?”
“I know, right?”
Kate feared that Castle did not get the measure of the troubles in which he put himself. She hoped he had a solid alibi for the weekend, or she feared he would finish the day in an orange jumpsuit.
Read part 2.