209. Are you talking to me?

“Grams is coming for dinner tonight,” Castle tells Alexis at a convenient moment mid-afternoon.

“Oh,” Alexis manages, not noticeably delighted. “Really? What’s she done this time?”

“Nothing. And that’s not the way to behave.”

“She upset you,” Alexis points out sulkily. “She’s not nice to you and you still invite her for dinner?”

“Grams is still family,” Castle says firmly. “You’ll sit through dinner with her so we can all clear the air and you will be nice to her. We’re going to fix this once and for all. Grams loves you and you’re not going to be the one who makes this all fall apart, are you?”

Alexis looks surprisingly mutinous. “But she deliberately upset you,” she says again. “Why’s it up to you to fix it? Grams should be fixing it.”

“Grams is trying to fix it. So since she’s trying, we’re going to try too. Understand?”

“Yes, Dad,” Alexis says without any pleasure at all.

“Now, what do you want for dinner?”

When his mother knocks, Castle opens the door with some trepidation. Alexis is still not entirely happy with the whole idea, and surprisingly unreceptive to any notions that she might play a part in fixing matters. Castle wishes that his daughter was just a tiny tad less attached to him, and a tiny tad more appreciative of how much her grandmother loves her. She’s being rather too teenage for his peace of mind: all grand causes and sacrifice. Castle doesn’t intend to see his mother made a burnt offering at Alexis’s altar.

“Darling,” his mother greets him. More unusual still, she embraces him: not with her normal theatrical gusto and display, but with a touch of reserve, as if she’s ready to pull away if her gesture isn’t reciprocated or desired. He hugs her back, rather awkwardly, and Alexis comes downstairs.

“Hi, Grams,” she says, and doesn’t come closer. “Do you want something to drink?”

Castle’s heart sinks. Alexis is treating her grandmother as she’d treat Jim. That’s not a good start.

“Yes, please, sweetie,” she says. Fortunately, Alexis doesn’t repeat her don’t call me sweetie nuclear launch countdown.

“I’ve got some nice white for us,” Castle says. “Let me open it. Alexis, d’you want to get yourself a soda?”

“Okay,” Alexis agrees, picking up the slight note of warning in Castle’s tone.

“How’s the show going?” At least that’s a neutral topic, for now.

“We’re still playing to full houses. Bookings are excellent. I think it’s going to run for at least another month, and longer if the theatre will let us stay on.”

“That’s great,” Castle says sincerely. “Can you move it to another theatre? Surely Dottie has some ideas, if La Mama moves you on?”

“I hadn’t asked,” his mother admits. “I… well, darling, I never thought it would be so popular. It’s the latest hot ticket, though, so maybe…”

“Even if it shuts down, you’re the latest hot director, so you’ll easily have something new.”

“Oh, but…”

Wow. His mother unsure of her ability? Astonishing.

“No buts. I was talking to Dottie last night, and everyone’s amazed by what you managed. You know Dottie was planning to pull the show after the first week because she knew Carl’s version was going to crater spectacularly?” His mother shakes her head. “Well, she was. But apparently ticket sales are so good that they’ve actually just about made a profit already, so you’re a star.”

“Oh!” Martha says with considerable pleasure. “Really?” She preens a little. “Well, well.”

“Yeah. I think you’ll have plenty of offers.”

“Thank you, darling.” She stops. “I meant to thank you for the poster. It’s beautiful. I” –

“Dad had it framed specially,” Alexis interrupts combatively. “Before you were so unkind to him.”

“Alexis!” Castle says reprovingly. “That’s uncalled for.” She colours, which clashes with her hair.

“But she was! And you just invite her for dinner without her even saying sorry when she wasn’t nice to you.”

Martha’s happiness has drained over that one short sentence.

“Alexis, that’s not even true. Grams has apologised to me. You’re being really rude and unpleasant. Apologise now, and if you can’t be civil, then leave the table until you can be.”

Alexis looks shocked at Castle’s tone. “But Dad” –

“No. Grams is trying to fix things. Now apologise.” Castle spears Alexis with a disciplinarian stare.

“I’m…sorry,” she forces out, red-faced, and precipitately leaves the table, tearful.

“I’m sorry, Mother. That wasn’t what I wanted.”

“I guess I deserved it,” she says sadly. “I hurt you, and I’m sorry. I just want us to be a family again.”

“Me too,” Castle says softly. “I guess it’ll take a little more time than I hoped. But…”

“Yes, darling?” Martha jumps on it, desperately hopeful.

“What did you say to Beckett last night? I know you wanted to talk to her, but last night wasn’t the time.”

“I wanted to tell her… I just wanted her to know I was wrong. She needs to understand that I know that. She said that you’d forgiven me and that was all there was to it, but it’s not. If she doesn’t believe that I understand, she’ll never be comfortable with me.”

“Mm,” Castle hums, sympathetically.

“I understand that she doesn’t want another mother, but we have to be able to get on. I don't want to lose you, and if Katherine can’t believe I’m sorry, I will.”

“She’d never stop me seeing you.”

“No?”

“No.” Castle is quite sure of that. He ponders for a moment. “Why don’t we go somewhere for dinner? You, me and Beckett. Somewhere neutral. Not here.” He pauses for a minute. “Not with Alexis.”

“Really, darling? Not Alexis?”

“No. I don’t think that’ll help anything right now. She needs time to calm down, and I think this might be better adults-only.”

Martha looks unhappy. “I just want this all better,” she says dispiritedly. “I thought…”

Castle doesn’t say I told you so, or any close cousin to it. It takes some effort. Instead he summons up something of a smile. “We can try to fix it, Mother. But I think it’ll take a bit of effort from everyone. Don’t push.” She winces. “I’ll ask Beckett if she’ll come out. Maybe Wednesday or Thursday?”

“Wednesday. Easier, because I’ll have seen the matinee performance and can skip the evening if I have to.”

His mother is serious enough about fixing things to miss a performance? That’s – well, that’s an enormous statement. She really does mean it. His smile becomes far warmer and more open.

“Okay. I’ll do my best to convince Beckett.”

“Thank you.”

By the end of dinner Alexis hasn’t re-appeared, but on sounds of clearing up and shuffling around she stutters down the stairs, still shamefaced.

“I’m sorry, Grams,” she forces out, again. “I” –

“I understand. You were just standing up for your father.”

Alexis’s blushes do not diminish.

“Good night, Grams,” she says, and manages a rather awkward hug. Castle provides a much more familial effort, and escorts his mother to the door.

“See you on Wednesday,” he says. “I’ll make a reservation somewhere.”

“Thank you, darling,” his mother says, with immense feeling.

On Monday, Beckett is sitting on the edge of her desk, swinging her feet crossly and biting her lip. She’s glaring at the murder board, which is not responding with anything useful. They have everything they need for a conviction, except for Bruno. Ryan and Espo slide up, and stare equally blackly at it.

“Okay, let’s go through what we’ve tried, again,” Beckett says, depressed. “We got camera footage, that proves Bruno was there. We got phone records, that prove Bruno and Diego were speaking to each other at a time that suggests Bruno’s the one who called Diego down to the crime scene. We’ve got fingerprints from the knife, which we can’t identify, but we’ve proved they don’t belong to anyone else from the restaurant. Same for DNA. And even Perlmutter has conceded that the knife is exactly right for the wounds. The shard that came off it matches.”

“I’ve called that number several times. Voicemail’s full, and no-one ever picks up. Don’t know what else to try.”

“It’s like he’s just fallen off the face of the earth,” Ryan says bleakly. “He might as well be dead too, for all the luck we’ve had finding him.”

“Have you tried running Missing Persons for John Does?” Beckett suddenly asks. “It’s not a great result – I’d rather see killers rotting in Rikers – but it’s gotta be worth a go.”

Esposito suddenly has a flash of inspiration. “You know what we din’t do?” he says. “We din’t send anyone canvassing the shelters an’ soup kitchens.”

Beckett’s eyes widen. “No,” she says. “We didn’t. We tried everything else, but not that. I guess it’s our last chance. Ryan, you get on to Missing Persons, just in case. Espo, you get the canvass set up.”

“What’re you going to do?”

“I’m going back to the restaurant. See if anything shakes loose.” She picks up her phone. “Castle? Yeah, look, meet me at Espanola. I wanna talk to them all again. See you there.”

She can’t help feeling there’s something she’s missing. Something they’re all missing.

She walks up to Espanola, hoping that the brisk movement will help her think. Unfortunately, it’s late June, and all that her walk brings her is unpleasant stickiness and heat. The restaurant provides her with coffee and a large glass of water, and she curls into a corner where she can’t easily be seen. It has occurred to her perennially suspicious mind that if Bruno was really cute he’d have kept in touch with the three guys who’d tried to sneak off, to keep an eye on the investigation, but she’s pretty sure that if they were working illegally they wouldn’t want to give up a job if they didn’t have to. She smiles nastily. A little focused intimidation and some (Montgomery-approved) threats and promises, and there just might be some information.

A few moments later Castle sidles in, trying to be sneaky and failing miserably. He spots her, and bounces over, clearly forgetting to be sneaky.

“Beckett,” he says happily. “Why are we back here?”

“Checking up. There must be something more. Something we’ve missed.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know,” she says with frustration.   “Something.”

“Oh,” someone says behind Castle. “It’s you again. You never signed my book.”

“Hey, John,” Castle says. “I’ll sign it now, if you like. We were just passing by, and I wanted coffee and pasteis de nata.” Beckett stares at Castle. “C’mon, Beckett. You have to try a pastel de nata. They’re gorgeous.”

“Sure,” John says, rather weakly. Beckett thinks that this is not an uncommon reaction to Castle at full-on enthusiasm.

“Okay, I’ll try one.”

“And coffee, please. And more coffee for her. She gets very cranky if she isn’t caffeinated regularly, you know,” Castle says confidentially to John. Beckett growls fearsomely. “You do,” he points out in a hurt tone.

John bustles off to find coffee and pastel de nata, and quite possibly to avoid the backwash from the ominous scowl on Beckett’s face.

“What are you doing?” Beckett hisses.

“Getting us coffee and cakes,” Castle says suavely, “which gives you a better excuse to sit here until the people you’re really interested in turn up, or Espo or Ryan call with some news.”

Beckett is blindsided by the lucid explanation. “Oh,” she says. “Okay. Um… good plan.”

“I’m just full of good ideas.”

“Or full of something,” Beckett mutters. Castle manufactures a hurt puppy-dog look, which has no effect.

“Who do you want to see?” he asks.

“The three who tried to skip out. I’m going to ask John to send each of them out to have a little chat.” Castle soundlessly asks the question. “There’s a tiny chance they know where Bruno is. It’s a long shot…”

“But you’ve got to follow it up.”

“Yeah.”

Shortly, John arrives with more coffee and some little custard tarts. He sets them down, and before he can turn back to the kitchen, Beckett stops him.

“John, I want to have another chat with Tony, Piotr and Pedro. Can you send each of them out here? I don’t want any of them taking a walk before I see them, so make sure they know that if they try, they’ll be spending the rest of the day in the cells.” She smiles brightly. It’s not friendly at all. John cringes very slightly.

“Okay.” He scuttles off.

Beckett regards the small pastries somewhat suspiciously, not notably allayed when Castle disposes of one in two fast bites.

“Mmmm,” he hums happily, “delicious. Try it, Beckett. You’ll love them.”

Beckett tentatively takes a nibble. A small nibble. Her eyes widen slightly. “They are good.” The rest of the original tart, and a second, disappear as if by magic. She’s reaching for a third as Piotr drags himself over.

“John said you want to see me,” he says in a Slavic accent.

“Yes,” Beckett says, “I wanted to ask if you’d seen anything of Bruno lately? He’s the last one of you to be interviewed, and if I can’t find him to talk to I’m going to have to bring you all in.”

Piotr looks horrified. “I do nothing,” he babbles. “You let me go after interview.”

“I have more evidence now.” She sips her coffee, totally cool. “So I can bring you back in. All of you. Or you can tell me where Bruno is, so I can talk to him.”

“I not know,” he bleats. “I not friends with Bruno.”

“Who was friends with Bruno?”

“Tony. Not me.”

“Huh. If you weren’t friends with Bruno, you’ll be happy to show me your phone to prove you haven’t talked to him.”

“Да, yes, look.” He opens his call log, which goes back well past the time of the murder. Beckett compares it to Bruno’s number, and doesn’t find anything matching.  

“I want your consent to the phone company releasing the records,” she says. Wiping calls from the log is not exactly difficult.

“Yes, Да, how I do that?”

“Sign this,” Beckett says, proffering a form and a pen. Piotr scribbles frantically, and prints his name underneath. “Thank you. Now, send out Pedro. And don’t talk to him about what we’ve discussed.” She smiles sharply, without amiability, and sips her coffee.

Piotr practically runs for the kitchen. Pedro appears with terrified alacrity, and she repeats the process, with the same results. Bruno wasn’t Pedro’s friend. Pedro hadn’t called Bruno. Pedro is only too happy to sign his consent for the phone records if it means it takes Beckett’s attention away from him and on to someone else.

Finally, Tony appears. Tony does not look as if he wants to be here. Tony does not, in fact, look as if he wants to be within ten miles of here. Tony is, bluntly, terrified. All of this makes Beckett very, very happy. Not, however, because she enjoys intimidating witnesses (though she does, when she thinks they’re lying to her, as now), but because it means that Tony is hiding something. And if Tony is hiding something, then she will extract it.

“Tony,” she says, smile knife-keen. “Sit down.” He does. “I need to find Bruno.”

“I don’t know where he is,” Tony falters.

“Really? Well, I guess you’re coming with me, then.” She drains her coffee, and reaches for the cuffs. Tony is pallid.

“What? Why? I didn’t do nothing?”

“Concealing information, Tony. Obstruction of justice.” She stands, and the cuffs glint in the sunlight. Tony can’t take his eyes off them. “Stand up,” she commands.

“I din’t do nothing. I don’t know nothing. You can’t do this!”

“You got that wrong, Tony. Turn around.”

“No! Look, I never” –

“Never what, Tony?” She sits back down.

“He’s my pal,” Tony says, miserably. “He shouldn’t have done it.” He droops. “Chef thought Bruno was cheating.”

“With you,” Castle says. It’s not a question.

“Yeah. ‘Cept he wasn’t. But Chef lost his temper an’ broke up with him.”

“So? Break-ups happen every day. Why’d Bruno kill him?”

“Chef reported him to immigration. Told ‘em Bruno was an illegal.”

“Was he?”

Tony doesn’t answer.

“So he was.” Tony nods, unhappily. “So where is he?” Tony says nothing, but looks very shifty. “Where is he?” Castle’s spine straightens at her tone. Tony crumbles.

“Soup kitchen on Bowery.”

“Right under our noses,” Beckett says disgustedly – and at that moment her phone rings. “Espo? What’ve you got?”

“I got Bruno,” issues from the phone. “Soup kitchen on Bowery.”

“Good work. I got a witness. Remember Tony from the restaurant?”

“Yeah. You coming back?”

“Yep. See you in ten.” She swipes off in a very satisfied manner, and stands. “Get up, Tony. You’re coming with us.”

Castle, not quite as absorbed in the case as Beckett, remembers to pay for the coffee and tarts, before, instead of Bruno being arrested, they are.

Back in the bullpen, Bruno is in Interrogation, and Espo and Ryan are enthusiastically interrogating. Beckett disposes of Tony into another room, for now, in case he’s needed, and observes, Castle standing close behind her and, since no-one’s around, twining his fingers into hers. Bruno spills his guts with the sordid tale: an affair with Chef, Chef thought he was cheating, and wouldn’t believe he wasn’t. Broke up, reported him, Bruno lost his temper and hacked him apart. He’d been a butcher, back in the day.

“So much blood,” Castle quotes. “And all for nothing. Misunderstandings and mistrust.” He looks into the interrogation room where Bruno’s being cuffed and then taken away.

“Better deal with Tony,” Beckett says.

“Yeah. Um… when that’s done, let’s go get some lunch. I’m hungry.”

“Sure, though you ate so many of those little tarts I’m surprised. You’ll get fat,” she says mischievously.

“I will not!” Castle takes offence. Then he grins. “I’m sure you can keep me properly exercised,” he adds, with a leer. She punches his shoulder, almost gently.

Tony disposed of, charged with obstruction of justice and in a cell next to Bruno, paperwork begun under Montgomery’s watchful, Captainly eye; Beckett and Castle still manage to slip away at lunchtime.

“What did you want to talk about?” Beckett asks, addressing her lunch as much as Castle.

“What? How did you know?”

She gives him a pitying look.

“Um… It’s about my mother.