89. Look right through me

“Before we get to that, Jim, could we go back to your meeting with Mrs Berowitz? I am exceedingly interested in your thoughts on that occasion.  I have the impression that that was the first time in which you became quite certain that there was something wrong with your daughter.”

“Yeah. Up till then it was all circumstantial, and it could just have been that Katie really was tired, or that she and Rick were having a row.  God knows, I had a few with Johanna that sounded just as bad as the one I walked into, and we got through it.”

“Surmounting rows is the sign of a healthy relationship,” Dr Burke agrees. “And it is certainly my impression that they have done so.”

Mr Beckett smiles, a little wryly.

“I’d rather find out what I’m missing, than go back over things.”

“I know. Unfortunately, I need to know what you have concluded, before I can decide what is best for your daughter.  Your perceptions are as important as hers, and I do not wish to taint your perceptions with my conclusions to date, nor with your daughter’s views.  We cannot afford misunderstandings here, Jim.  It is very important that I understand your observations.”

Dr Burke is deliberately appealing to Mr Beckett’s desperation to help Detective Beckett. He is certain that this will work, despite Mr Beckett’s clear desire to know what the real issue is.  Dr Burke does not yet wish to discuss that.

“Okay, then,” Mr Beckett concedes. “I get that.  Untainted evidence.  So.  Mrs Berowitz.  Katie was tense from the off, and Rick knew it.  He was leaning into her as if he was ready to grab her and take her out, but I didn’t see him lay a finger on her.  Katie was as stiff as the fireplace poker.  Anyway, I went through my story, same as Katie had heard before, but she – it was as if she’d never heard it.  Found out that Katie had been running round trying to find Mr Berowitz, pulling him out the tank.  Mrs Berowitz said she’d done it twice, took a shot at Katie not doing it another time, when he’d already been found.  I couldn’t believe Mrs Berowitz was that selfish about it.  She could go get her own husband, she didn’t need Katie for that.  Then the stupid woman said she could never give up her husband, when I said that Katie had walked away.  Katie was white.  Cold, as if she’d been hit.”

Now that is interesting. Mr Castle had said that he had thought Detective Beckett to be stressed. Wired had been the word he had used. Mr Beckett regards her as having been cold. 

“Damn woman had made her feel guilty. She never needed to feel guilty.  She was the only reason I ever got dry.  I was going to talk to her about why she did it…”

Mr Beckett stops, to compose himself. Dr Burke stays calm, and silent, to allow him to reveal his thoughts in his own way.

“Then Mrs Berowitz just wrote off everything I’d told her and Katie got mad. Really mad.  I thought she’d grown out of her temper – when she was a teen she oftentimes let rip, but this was right back to that, except it was still cold.”  Likewise, Mr Castle had regarded this as emotional, to the point almost of tears.  It is extremely interesting that Mr Beckett, who knew Detective Beckett before tragedy had struck, believes her to have been unemotional, while Mr Castle, who has only seen her some time afterwards, regards her behaviour to have been – for her – extremely emotional.  Hm.  The depth of repressed emotion that Dr Burke suspects to be present is substantial.

“She laid into Mrs Berowitz and then walked out. She said she couldn’t save me, and that Mrs Berowitz would just have to live with whatever decision she made.”

Mr Beckett blows his nose.

“Mrs Berowitz burst into tears, and I was just shocked. It sounded like Katie had never come to terms with any of it, but I’d always thought she had.  I couldn’t believe it.  We had to wait for someone to turn up, and I had time to think.  Katie sounded like she still felt guilty for walking away, but she’d never let on.  Sounded like she couldn’t deal with not being able to save me.  It’s been five years, and I’d never seen a hint of that before.  Rick made sure I got to my sponsor, and then he went to see Katie.”

Dr Burke does not mention that Detective Beckett had refused to see Mr Castle.

“I spent a long time with Ed.” Dr Burke produces a questioning look.  “My sponsor.  By the time I was okay again, Katie had texted, but it was too late to answer.  I…” he looks shamefaced “… I wasn’t in a place where I could have the conversation we needed to have.  She texted again before eight the next morning.  Soon as I could, I called her.  She said she was fine.  Like I’d believe her.  How she could think I would believe that, after how upset she was… I don’t know.  And… I guess I was still a bit worked up from the whole thing, and I was a little, well, exasperated with her trying to shrug it off, so I told her that telling me she was fine was a lie.  She didn’t let me finish.  I was going to say that I was worried about her, but she lost her temper again and said…said…”

“Said what, Jim?” Dr Burke asks very carefully and gently.

“Said that I was ashamed of her, said that she could never have been enough. She said she was still trying – but then she wouldn’t say what and she cut the call and I couldn’t get through.   I kept trying.  Finally I called Rick, and he said leave it to him.”

“What did you think then?”

“I didn’t know what to think. It didn’t make any sense at all.  So I called later.  Rick hadn’t called me either.  Her phone still wasn’t on, so I called Rick, and” – Mr Beckett winces, and colour flares in his face – “he said they were a bit busy.”

The uncomfortable tone tells Dr Burke everything he needs to know about Mr Beckett’s thoughts on that matter. Dr Burke is more inclined to believe that Mr Castle had not, in fact, been engaged in intimate congress; but in a much more protective position, much as he had been on Friday evening in this room.

“A lot later she called back. She sounded absolutely fine: even happy.  I assumed that Rick had managed to get her to talk about it and – er – cheered her up.  So we apologised to each other, and it was all fine.  That day.  But then I started putting the pieces together and I wasn’t nearly as sure that she was fine at all, but I didn’t think she’d talk to me – after all, if she wasn’t telling me the whole truth then she wasn’t going to start later.”

“Why did you think she wasn’t going to tell the whole truth?”

“Everything. She never got upset or cross, she never told me anything was wrong – not about work, or a bad movie.  Nothing was ever wrong.  It couldn’t possibly be true, when I actually thought about it.  And now she was saying that she was fine again, but it wasn’t realistic that she was better.  She was” – he searches out a word – “sanitising.  Censoring.  Never telling me about anything unpleasant or unhappy.   As if I wouldn’t cope.”  He stops.  “Or maybe she thought I wouldn’t care.  If she meant it when she said that she was never enough for me, then maybe she thought I didn’t care enough to listen if she was upset.  Anyway.  Rick told me nothing, as usual” – that is bitter – “and Katie finally called and pretended she had an upset stomach and that was the whole problem.  But she was lying.  And then the next time I saw her I tried to get the truth out her and she wasn’t having it and then it all went to hell.  Now she won’t take my calls and all Rick says is leave it to him.”

Dr Burke recognises a similarity from Mr Castle’s version of events. Detective Beckett had reacted to someone forcing her to see the truth by pushing them away.  Indeed, she has tried the same tactic on him.  It has failed with Mr Castle, who was strong enough – and emotionally involved enough – to evolve a strategy to manoeuvre around it, and it has failed with Dr Burke, who is professionally capable of withstanding all such tactics.

“I see.” Dr Burke does indeed see.  Among other things, he sees that Mr Beckett had been deceived by his daughter into believing for some years that all was well.  However, he has an outstanding concern.

“Jim, you have said a number of times that your daughter has said that she couldn’t save you. How do you interpret that?”

“It’s nonsense. She saved me by walking away, and then she saved me by being there after I got dry.”

“But you were the one who chose to stop drinking, were you not? You still do, every day.”

“Yes, but I needed a reason. Katie was the reason.  If she hadn’t been there, I’d have had no reason.”

“She was your original reason for choosing to stop. But – forgive me – she has rejected you, and yet you have remained sober in the face of very considerable adversity.”

“Oh. I see.  I didn’t explain very well.  She was the reason to start, but after I’d been going to AA for a while I realised I couldn’t put my burden on her.  It’s not up to her to keep me sober, it’s up to me.  I’m the only one who can control myself.  She can’t.”

At least Mr Beckett has a proper sense of the second C. Dr Burke swiftly considers his options.  Gentle direction ought to be appropriate here.

“Jim, this conversation has been very helpful indeed in understanding your view of events and in understanding your daughter. I should like to ask a few further questions, which will not take long, and then we can discuss how best to help you reconnect with her.”

“Okay.” Mr Beckett looks determined, but nervous.  “Whatever it takes.”

“Jim, your daughter chose to go into a profession, one of whose mottos is protect and serve.  Do you think that your daughter was trying to protect Mrs Berowitz, and if so, from what?”

Mr Beckett is obviously thinking about that. “Mm,” he says slowly.  “It wouldn’t surprise me.  She’d be trying to stop her going through the same upset that Katie did.”

“That concurs with my thinking. Now, you have entirely correctly noted that it is you who is solely responsible for your sobriety.  In the light of your daughter’s wish to protect strangers, do you consider that she may regard it as her job to protect you, and again, if so, from what?”

The pause as Mr Beckett thinks is much shorter, this time. “I can’t say it hadn’t occurred to me, recently.  I said it, earlier, that I was beginning to wonder, but you making me lay it all out like this, and thinking about how she was always cheerful and everything was always fine, I think she was.”  He pauses again.  “You think she’s been trying to keep me away from anything that might upset me… and send me back down the bottle.”  It is not a question.  Dr Burke watches as Mr Beckett, displaying the same fierce intelligence as his daughter, takes the next step.  “What else has Katie been hiding from me?”  And then the next, colour and life draining from his face, leaving him abruptly old.  “What did I do when I was drunk?  What did I say to her?”  There is a further, ghastly, silence.

“Why did she never tell me?   She should have told me.  It wasn’t her job to protect me from the truth.”  He stops, hard.  “Did I tell her something that made her think she wasn’t enough?  Wasn’t family?”  His face crumples greyly.  “I did.  I must have.”

Dr Burke shifts the box of Kleenex slightly, and decides that a modicum of truth of his own is necessary.

“Jim, I believe that without you in any way knowing it, or meaning to do so, your daughter has gained that impression. We could discuss it now, and we will if you wish to, but I believe that the best way to help you and your daughter through this is for a discussion to take place between you and your daughter as to what your precise words and actions were, and why she did not speak of them.  I only know what she believes, and I would only be relating second hand information, without a proper context, which I consider would be very partial and potentially very damaging for both you and your daughter.  I suggest that such a discussion takes place here, where I can assist.  I strongly recommend that you do not try to open it otherwise, if you wish it to be fruitful.”

“Not much chance, if she won’t see me. So you think I should wait?”

“I do,” Dr Burke says gently. “However, I will tell you that your daughter had therapy some time ago.  The therapist was, to say the least, incompetent.  As a consequence, she has been labouring under considerable misapprehensions for some time, including relating to how she has dealt with you.  Understandably, this has caused her unhappiness and discomfort.  Under my guidance, she is uncovering and correcting these, but it has been uncomfortable.”  Mr Beckett looks as if he might say something.  “The therapist will be dealt with.  I have already set the appropriate procedures in motion.”  A relaxation.

“So what do we do, Carter?”

“I will contact you as soon as I think that a discussion can be profitable. It may take a little time.  I suggest you stay in touch with Mr Castle, despite your understandably mixed feelings about his role, as he is a strong supporter of you re-establishing a family relationship with your daughter.  It will be likely to ease your mind.”

Dr Burke applies a sympathetic expression, entirely sincere, to his face. “I counsel you to talk this over with your sponsor.  You are naturally wondering what more you might have done, and how to resolve this, and it will be most upsetting for you until your daughter is ready to speak freely to you.  Of your willingness to speak freely, I have no doubt.  You are also most welcome to contact me at any time, if you wish for a further opinion.  My receptionist will have instructions to make space for you.  You are a strong man, Jim, but as you know, sometimes a little help is required to stay strong.”

“Appreciate it,” Mr Beckett says.

“Jim, if it is any consolation, I believe that your daughter is as distressed as you are at this breach between you. I should like to see it mended in the shortest possible time.  However, it will not be the same as it was when she was nineteen.  Do not expect that.  She is older, and her experiences have changed her, as yours have changed you.  Your interactions need not be better, or worse, but they will be different.”

“I guess.”

Dr Burke wishes that he could reassure Mr Beckett, but he cannot in good conscience do so. On the balance of probabilities, matters will be satisfactorily resolved, but he is unwilling to guarantee that.  On the other hand, if he cannot do so, then no other psychiatrist in Manhattan could resolve this conflict either.

“Jim, may I make one final suggestion?”

“Mm?”

“Please would you see your sponsor, after you leave this session? Even if it is only for a few minutes, I profoundly believe it will be comforting.”

“I was going to,” Mr Beckett says. “It’s all arranged.  He’s expecting me.  Funny thing is, Rick said the same thing.  Even offered to be here, if I wanted.  Guess he’s all in.  Who else would put up with us Becketts?”

Only the very strong and the very brave, Dr Burke thinks, and bids Mr Beckett farewell.

Before leaving, Dr Burke considers his next meeting with Detective Beckett. He hopes that she will present herself for her scheduled appointment tomorrow.  He is not at all sure that she will.  However, he now considers that he has all the main components of the information which he is likely to need, and if she should not attend he will use the time to consider how best to manage the extremely difficult meeting between Detective Beckett and Mr Beckett.

Beckett is sitting staring at a cold case file in the bullpen, not thinking exclusively about the file in front of her. She is, in fact, thinking about the file and therapy in approximately a sixty-forty ratio, and coming down on the side of just giving up on both for today and going home immediately shift ends, possibly by way of a store selling chocolate and/or ice-cream.  Comfort food, especially with coffee.   Maybe coffee chocolates?  Coffee chocolate ice-cream?  Both, with added coffee? 

She’s getting as bubble-brained as the latest celebrity reality TV star, and she knows why. She doesn’t want to go to therapy tonight.  She doesn’t want to deal with Dr Burke and his hard truths about her and her father.  Friday had been an absolute disaster and she can’t face having what little skin she has left peeled back and the flesh salted.  She can’t bear the thought that she’s still looking for her father to love her when he patently does not. 

Castle hadn’t shown up yesterday, since cold cases are not his thing, and unless there’s a new case shortly it’s likely to be the same for the short time that remains of today. Although she’d prefer him in his accustomed chair next to her desk, in an odd sort of way it had been rather reassuring that he hadn’t turned up yesterday or now: it assuages her nervousness that he feels he has to be there all the time.  At which point, her phone rings.

“Beckett.”

“It’s me.”

“Hey, Castle.”

“I forgot to tell you that I sorted everything out for next weekend. We can go Friday, come back late Sunday.”

“Thanks.” She sounds distracted.

“What’s the matter? Wrist sore?”

“No, just aches a bit. Too much writing.”

“I’ll kiss it better, later.”

“Yeah.”

There’s a pause. Beckett hadn’t exactly sounded enthusiastic.

“Do you want me to pick you up tonight? Or just see you at yours as usual?”

“I’m not going,” Beckett says combatively.

“Uh – what?”

Castle hears a short silence punctuated by the closing of a door.

“I’m not going.” Beckett says again.  Castle picks up, underneath her normal precinct decisiveness, considerable unhappiness.  What he doesn’t know is whether she is unhappy because she is remembering Friday’s fiasco or whether she’s unhappy because she knows she ought to go tonight.

“When were you supposed to be there?”

“Six.”

It’s only five now. Formally, shift ends in thirty minutes.

“Have you called to cancel?”

“No.”

This may be an improvement. If she hasn’t actually called to cancel, yet…

“When are you going to?”

“Huh?”

“Well, if you’re not going to go you ought to tell them. And since you’re not going how about we go for dinner somewhere?”

There is a nonplussed silence down the phone.

“I thought…”

“That I’d object? Not my decision.  Not up to me.”

The last time he’d tried reverse psychology tactics they had worked. He hopes they will work again this time.

“But…”

“But?”

“But I thought you wanted me to go.” She sounds confused, which is already a lot better than combative.

“Only if it’s helping you and you decide to go. Otherwise, what’s the point?  It’s up to you what you do.”

“But I thought you wanted me to come to the loft?” she stutters. “Don’t you?”

“Yeah, but that’s up to you too. When you’re ready.”  He’s not going to issue ultimatums here.  That would be fatal.  “Anyway, you saw my family on Sunday morning and nothing went wrong, if you discount my mother’s presence.  So you’ll get there.  Up to you how long it takes.”

“But… but what if I can’t?”

“Then you can’t.”

“But I want to.”  There’s a long pause.  “If I go will you meet me there after, and then if I’m okay we could go for dinner?”

“Sure,” says Castle, without betraying by a single misplaced breath his enormous relief. “What time?”

“Seven.”

“Okay. We can go to Remy’s.   See you later, Beckett.”