Chapter Text
Kate Beckett listened attentively as Richard told his improbable tale regarding Caffrey’s suspicions. She had been a detective too long to not think out of the box from time to time, and this was one of those times. She remembered the almost feral intensity that Castle had manifested when Alexis was missing. It was a side she was sure not many had witnessed from the usually mild-mannered author. So, she was really not surprised to learn that his various contacts in the underbelly of society were sometimes scary as well as lethal. Although Castle seemed to have faith in this particular contact, she did not. Sometimes what you saw was really what you got, even though your personal feelings wanted you to see something else. So the argument commenced between Kate and her fiancé.
“Castle, this man is a criminal, one who could be capable of murder. He could be the one behind this whole thing and is bringing it to our attention for his own twisted reasons. Maybe he feels that he’s not getting enough attention. Maybe it’s to get back at the FBI for his initial arrest years ago, or it concerns his current problems with them. Maybe he’s just a sick son of a bitch who wants to show us how clever he is because obviously we weren’t getting it on our own.”
“I don’t think so, Kate. He’s a felon, sure, but, I don’t know, he’s got his own agenda of ethics and I can’t imagine him killing anyone.”
“When Alexis’ life was in danger, what happened to your code of ethics, Castle? And you have no idea how this man managed to find her. Murder could have been part of that scenario.”
With that, she instructed Ryan and Esposito to bring Neal Caffrey in for a chat.
~~~~~~~~~~
Neal had just slipped out to get lunch, an easy thing to do since Peter was out of the office tied up in ASAC meetings somewhere. Left to his own devices, he planned to make it a really long lunch. Neal’s grand plan went to hell as he was approached by two men in suits who looked grim and determined. When they showed their NYPD shields, Neal was not surprised but rather resigned. With a deep sigh, he knew that lunch was now a pipedream and he was in for the long haul with New York’s finest.
Castle looked apologetic when Neal was escorted into the downtown precinct. Kate Beckett, however, was a different story. She looked like a woman on a mission as she zeroed in on Neal with a laser stare. He was taken to an interrogation room and left to stew for awhile, no doubt to make his stress level increase. Neal smiled to himself. He had, in the course of his colorful career, been interrogated by the best that every law enforcement agency had to offer. He could endure whatever was thrown at him and remain cool and unaffected. It usually drove the questioners bonkers. At least he was no longer bored; bring it on, he mused.
Hours later, well beyond the scope of anyone’s normal work day, Beckett was well past frustrated. This man had all the right answers, and a tracking anklet that proved beyond a doubt that he could not have committed the last three murders. That didn’t mean he wasn’t the mastermind behind them, orchestrating a Machiavellian masterpiece of intrigue for his own hubris.
Kate insisted that Caffrey turn over the painting that he said he had received, or the police, she threatened, would turn his apartment upside down until they found it. Neal calmly told her that she wouldn’t be able to do that without a search warrant, and, at present, there were insufficient grounds to obtain one. She had tried bluffing, but he was always one step ahead of her. Then, uncharacteristically, he offered to have his landlady bring it in, if that would make her happy. She agreed, and then returned to her desk to regroup.
Peter Burke, meanwhile, had come back from his meetings and noted Neal’s empty desk in the middle of the afternoon. That got Peter’s ire stirred up. He was going to put an end to Neal’s pushing the envelope right now. He cornered Jones and wanted to know when Caffrey had left. Jones furrowed his brow and told Peter that Neal had left for lunch around 12:30PM but had never returned. Jones just assumed that he and Peter had rendezvoused some time after lunch to work on a case outside of the office. When Peter pulled up Neal’s tracking data, he felt his stomach drop when he saw that Neal was at the 12th precinct and had been there for almost the whole afternoon.
On the drive over to NYPD, thoughts cascaded through Peter’s brain like a waterfall. What had Neal done now? And whatever “it” was, why now? For the longest time during their relationship, Peter had watched Neal struggle to stay on the straight and narrow path. Sure, there had been missteps along the way, but the things that Neal had gotten himself into were usually done in the course of trying to help someone. God knows, Peter was certainly familiar with Neal’s endeavors to help, no matter what the cost. This whole estrangement between them now was a product of “doing the wrong thing for the right reason.”
Peter knew that Neal had a good heart, even if Peter had recently accused him of being a criminal, bad to the bone, someone who would never be anything else. It hadn’t been his finest hour. Then Peter thought back to what he had told the FBI panel that held the power of commuting Neal’s sentence over a year ago. He remembered those words as if they were spoken yesterday. “If we continue to treat him like a criminal, then he will always think that he is one.” And wasn’t that what Peter had done recently. So, was that the reason for this backsliding? He needed answers.
Once he arrived at the 12th precinct and was directed to the right office, Peter identified himself and demanded to see the person in charge. Kate Beckett was a surprise, beautiful but rigidly unimpressed with the fact that an FBI agent was in her midst. In fact, she looked pissed off and territorial. She calmly informed him that Neal Caffrey was a person of interest in an ongoing homicide investigation, and they were not finished questioning him yet. Then she adamantly refused to allow Peter to see him. Things became a bit more verbally heated from that point on until the Captain of the squad appeared. Apparently she was a veteran who had come up through the ranks and had dealt with her share of imposing irritants who felt entitled. Captain Gates had a backbone of steel and told Peter, in no uncertain terms, to dial it down a few notches. The FBI had no jurisdiction in this case so his continued presence would be a courtesy extended to him if he could play nice in the sandbox. For once, Peter realized that he did not have the upper hand. He was grudgingly escorted to an empty side office to cool his heels by a smirking Hispanic detective, and that’s where he remained for quite some time.