Seeing the four men in front of him looking distraught, Jack stood up, cleared the dishes in front of them, and sent them to the backyard.
The temperature had already exceeded 30 degrees Celsius during the day, but it was still mild at night. The Wanted Criminals Unit's small building was not far from the beach, and the night breeze brought a slight chill.
The old Mexican gardener had kept the backyard well maintained. The chili peppers and cherry tomatoes were all red, the water spinach had just been harvested, the eggplants were already bearing fruit, and the cucumbers and loofahs on the racks were all bright green.
He picked a few cucumbers, rinsed them briefly with water, and gave each of them two. He also added a plate of sea salt and peanuts. Jack set up a small table in the yard and finally took out a jar of Sea Blue with prunes.
"Okay, continue. What happened next?"
Cassel saw the small, cute ceramic wine cup he had laid out. When filled, it only held a little over ten milliliters (a three-cent cup). Intrigued, he picked up a cup and drank it all in one gulp.
After a grimace from choking, he exhaled a long, fuming puff of alcohol, imitating Jack's example, before continuing his account of what had happened.
It had been nearly six months since Beckett had shot Dick Coonan. At the time, New York newspapers had devoted extensive coverage to the story of the heroic female detective who had single-handedly shot and killed a criminal attempting to escape the police station.
However, about three weeks earlier, while Jack was in San Francisco on the West Coast, handling the Alcatraz VX bomb incident, Beckett received a mysterious phone call.
The voice on the other end was elderly, and he asked her to meet at a café on Fourth Street to discuss her mother's case.
"And you, obediently, followed his instructions and went to the café with only Castle?"
Jack looked at the listless Beckett with a scathing tone. The case information was among the files Castle had previously sent him.
Beckett had lost her former New York City beauty's youthful spirit. Her brown hair was a mess, and her beautiful eyes were swollen like walnuts.
Kevin and Esposito, who had been drinking silently with their heads down, looked up and opened their mouths at this, as if to defend their boss.
But then, realizing Jack wasn't their superior and this wasn't some kind of interrogation session, they lowered their heads again.
Both men's faces were still bruised, especially Esposito, whose neck was marked by deep bruises from ligatures.
Waiting for Castle and Beckett in the cafe was a retired NYPD detective named John LaGrand, the man who had handled the case of Beckett's mother's murder.
John LaGrand explained that he had just learned from his doctor that he had advanced lymphoma and had at most six months to live, and wanted to tell Beckett the truth before he died.
Over a decade earlier, Beckett's mother, Johanna Beckett, a civil rights lawyer, had been found dead in a dark alley, suffering from multiple fatal stab wounds.
At the time, John LaGrand was a detective in the NYPD homicide unit who handled the murder, which was eventually attributed to gang violence at the behest of some.
For years, especially since Beckett gave up becoming a lawyer, joined the police academy, and became an NYPD officer, she had been privately working to investigate her mother's death.
Three more people were murdered shortly thereafter—two of her mother's colleagues and a court clerk. But after Beckett traced four suspected murders to a legal case, all leads fizzled out.
Beckett's mother had requested access to a court document before her murder, but the disappearance of that crucial document undid all the detective's efforts.
John LaGrand's appearance proved crucial. According to his confession, the story stemmed from a nineteen-year-old case. However, before he could reveal the truth, a bullet from across the street struck him in the chest.
"And yet, even then, you had no intention of informing me of this case?" Jack glared at the three NYPD officers and the writer.
Sniper murders, like serial killer cases, afford the FBI direct involvement. Furthermore, with Jack's current connections with the NYPD, even if he wanted to personally investigate a single burglary, no one would argue that he had jurisdiction.
"I suggested asking you directly for help, but the deceased was a retired NYPD detective, and you were missing at the time..." Castle's voice trailed off.
Jack didn't intend to argue with them on this matter, but instead looked at the two clowns. "Then you two found out the shooter was a professional killer using the alias Hal Lockwood, and when you went to arrest him, he was captured alive by a stun grenade?"
Kevin looked ashamed, while Esposito touched the stranglehold on his neck with lingering fear. "Yes, thankfully Beckett and Castle arrived in time, and that's how they were able to capture Hal Lockwood alive."
Jack pursed his lips as he flipped through the on-site report on his phone, then put the phone down and clapped softly.
"There were four of them, including Hal Lockwood, all professional gunmen, equipped with a full complement of automatic firepower, including submachine guns and assault rifles.
And our intrepid Detective Beckett, armed with just a Glock pistol, charged right into the unarmed writer's ranks and ultimately captured him alive. Truly impressive!"
Clearly sensing the sarcasm in Jack's tone, Beckett's pretty face flushed almost the color of liver, even his earlobes reddening.
Sensing the situation was about time, Jack stopped dwelling on the matter and turned back to the clown duo. "You didn't explain in your report why Hal Lockwood tortured you, so why did he capture you alive instead of just killing you?"
The two exchanged glances, and Kevin answered, "He said his employer wanted to know how far along we were in the investigation."
"So how far along were you?" Jack refilled the four of their drinks.
Cassel continued, "About nineteen years ago, officers John LaGrand and Gary McAllister, then members of the NYPD's Mobile Patrol, were both members of the 'Blue Templars,' a gang within the NYPD."
"Wait, are you sure you mean 'Blue Templars,'" Jack asked in surprise.
The last time he heard that name was nearly two years ago (Chapter 637), when he had just arrived in New York and assisted Frank Regan in completing an internal cleanup, eradicating this police gang hidden within the NYPD.
(End of Chapter)