Chapter 5

Beckett. Katherine Beckett. Kate. He compared the photos again, squinting at the grainy face from the security footage. It was her. Her hair was lighter, her features older- eyes more tired than the fresh faced rookie staring back at him from the personnel file, but it had to be her. None of the others came close.

Rick jolted when a hand clamped down on his shoulder.

"Is that her?"

"Hey, Bob. Yeah, I think so."

"She's beautiful, Rick. One of the best cops in the city from what I've heard. Of course, you deserve nothing less."

Rick smiled. Who knew the Mayor of New York City was such a romantic? "Thanks, man. Look I'd love to stay and chat but I'm on a tight timetable."

"No problem, Ricky. Is there any way I can help? The entire city of New York is at my disposal."

"Thanks, I appreciate it, but this is something I need to do myself. It's fate, right? It's not like we can change it."

"If anyone can change fate, Rick, it's you. Good luck, man."

"Thanks, Bob." Rick replied as he stood and clasped the mayor's hand in his own. "I owe you one."

"Just the story, Rick. It's been what- five, six years since Derrick Storm? The world misses your words."

"I miss them too."

"Get out of here. Go find your girl."

NYPD's twelfth precinct buzzed with activity. Uniformed officers strolled through the lobby- manning the desk, escorting cuffed miscreants and sobbing victims to the appropriate locations. Radios hummed and whirred, filling the air with static and garbled words. A plainclothes detective brushed past him, high fiving a couple other officers with his free hand as his other balanced a teetering stack of coffees.

"Excuse me," Rick stated, approaching the desk. "I'm looking for a detective- Kate Beckett."

"Fourth floor, homicide." The officer stated, glancing up only long enough to assess that the man in front of him was not crazy, nor covered in blood. "Gotta sign in, get a visitor's badge."

A clip board clattered to the counter in front of him and Rick grasped the pen chained to the top in his sweaty palm.

"Elevator's behind me on the left." The officer informed him, as he took the board back and slapped a worn, peeling badge in its vacant spot on the counter. "Make sure to return that when you leave."

"Will do." Rick gave the officer a nod and rounded the desk, clipping the badge to his shirt pocket. He pushed the elevator call button and shifted from foot to foot, knees quivering as he waited for it to arrive.

The fourth floor was eerily quiet when Rick stepped off of the creaking elevator and into the homicide bullpen. Under other circumstances he would have been bouncing with glee at the chance to poke around an actual police station- without the cuffs- but instead of pounding with anticipation, his heart sank with dread at the sight of Kate Beckett's empty chair.

"Excuse me," he called at a passing uniformed officer. The cop, who couldn't have been more than twenty, with a fresh smattering of pimples across his round cheeks, stopped short. "Can you help me, I'm looking for a detective. Kate Beckett. Is she here?"

"I- uh-" the young uniform- Tobin, according to his badge- stuttered, his eyes darting to the empty desk in the middle of the bullpen. "No. Detective Beckett isn't here."

"Okay, do you know when she'll be back? It's urgent." Rick continued, sweat clinging to his spine.

"No, Sir, and after what happened yesterday I'm not sure if she'll be back at all." Tobin shrugged.

"What happened yesterday?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, Sir," the kid stuttered, his cheeks beaming beet red. "I don't think I should be talking about it. I shouldn't have said anything at all."

"It could be a matter of life and death. I really need to find her."

"If someone's in danger I can get you another detective. Captain Gates should be back any moment."

"No. Please," the word slipped past Rick's lips, the pleading tone one he had never heard in his own voice. "It has to be Beckett."

Tobin's eyes shifted around the bullpen- thinking, evaluating- before his spit shined NYPD issues boots clomped two steps closer. "She's probably at the cemetery. The former Cap's funeral is today. Most everyone went, those of us who didn't serve under him are holding down the fort."

"Which cemetery?"

"Saint Vincent's. She might not be there though. Gates told her she couldn't give the eulogy because of the suspension."

Rick swallowed down the lump in his throat only to have it settle in his gut. He sucked in a breath, forcing back the bleak imagines pushing to the surface of his mind. "Thank you. Thank you."

A motorcycle roared out past him when he turned into St Vincent's Cemetery. The wrought iron gates creaked in the spring breeze, an ominous contradiction to the bright blue sky.

Rick pulled his car to a stop at the curb. Sunglasses hid the eyes of mourners trudging away from the fresh grave, dabbing tissues at their noses.

His fingers fumbled with the belt release, missed the door handle. On the third try he managed to push open the door with his foot and clambered out. He scanned faces, head dipping to see around curtains of hair and oversized glasses as he wandered to the plot where a few mourners were still gathered. The copied photograph, grainy from the cheap black and white printer hung like a weight in his jacket pocket, anchoring his resolve when each face failed to be a match.

"Excuse me," he said, approaching a group of men and women who lingered around the grave. One woman turned, silently voted by the group as the spokesperson, and he gave her an apologetic smile. A black lace veil shielded her eyes, accenting her ruby red lips. "I'm sorry to bother you, but I'm looking for someone, a cop."

"Well you stopped by the right funeral for that." She quipped, and Rick shifted feet as her eyes assessed his sport coat, and jeans. "I take it you weren't invited."

"Um no, well not really. I'm looking for Kate, Detective Beckett. She asked me to meet her here." The lie flubbed off his tongue and the purse of her lips told him that she knew.

"Really?" The incredulous lilt of the question had him backpedaling when a hand clasped his shoulder.

"Hi Lanie, I'll take it from here." A deep voice sounded behind him.

The woman gave the newcomer a kind smile over Rick's shoulder and Rick winced when the fingers tightened, tips digging into muscle.

The hand lifted and Rick turned on a steadying breath to face his new acquaintance. Expecting a burly, intimidating cop, he had to cover his surprise when a man a head shorter than himself with salt and pepper hair came into view.

"Now, tell me son, what do you want with Kate Beckett?"

Small beads of sweat popped up along Rick's hairline and his hand closed over the numbers on his wrist of its own will.

"I just need to talk to her, sir. I have some important information for her."

"Important information, hmm? About what?" The man's arms folded over his chest, lips pressed in a straight line, and Rick reassessed his level of intimidation.

Rick stuttered, eyes darting around in a fruitless attempt to find someone to come to his aid. "I'm sorry, sir, but it's private and urgent and I really just need to find Detective Beckett."

The man's eyes trailed down, lingering where Rick's fingers twitched and fidgeted over his tattoo.

"Let me see your wrist."

"What? Why?" Rick's fingers tightened and he took an involuntary step back.

"Because you are way too twitchy to be any sort of psychopath and you've been holding it like a lifeline since you got out of your expensive car over there. So if you want me to tell you anything, you will show me what the hell you're hiding and then we'll talk."

Rick studied the man- his short but authoritative stature, the hardness behind kind eyes- and nodded. Unclasping the button of his cuff with shaking fingers, he shoved his shirt sleeve up and rotated his wrist so the countdown faced out.

"My name is Rick Castle. Yesterday I ran into Kate- Detective Beckett at a coffee shop. I didn't notice the numbers until I got home, I've been doing everything I can to find her ever since. Please, if you have any information on how I can find her before… Please."

Rick fell silent once the plea tumbled from his lips, but the man only continued to stare at the tattoo.

"That's- that's Katie?"

The words were barely more than a whisper but they had Rick's heart beating double time. "Yes." The word felt like taffy in his throat and the man turned his paled face to look at his.

"She-um-Katie was just here. She said she had to lay low for a couple of days. I got the sense that something was wrong but she wouldn't say. She was headed to a cabin upstate. I'll give you the address."

"Thank you." The words tumbled from Rick's lips and relief flooded his chest.

The man flipped open a small spiral bound notebook he pulled from his jacket pocket and jotted down the address. He ripped the page free and stared down at it before looking up to meet Rick's eye once again. "My wife was a fan of your books. When she died my daughter started reading them, said they made her feel close to her mother again. It was a pity when you stopped writing."

He held out the small sheet of paper and it fluttered in the breeze until Rick's hand clasped around it. "I miss it too. Thank you-"

"Jim. Jim Beckett."

The breath Rick had worked so hard to catch, flew from his lungs and Jim's hand clasped his shoulder once again, this time in solidarity rather than suspicion.

"Go help my daughter."