CHAPTER 1

It was a Saturday night at the precinct and things were unusually quiet. Ryan and Esposito were playing a heated game of paper football, filled with whispered accusations of cheating and suppressed grunts of victory, that they had to abandon every time Gates looked or came out of her office, at which point they would resume their fake paperwork.

Beckett, however, was doing paperwork, and Castle sat in his spot beside her desk. He had been playing on his phone for so long, she wondered if he had some secret phone that only rich people could buy that had a magic battery. He was fidgety, but quiet for once. He hadn't spoken to her in over an hour, but she knew it was just a matter of time before he—

"Did you know that most murders in New York City occur on Saturday nights?" he asked, barely looking up from his phone.

"Hmph," she muttered, trying not to engage.

"Oh, and it's a full moon tonight, even though scientists have yet to prove that more crimes actually occur on nights with a full moon …"

"Your point being …" Beckett replied with as little enthusiasm as possible.

"My point is simple—that we should have a case by now. The moon is full, and it's a Saturday night. How come no one is killing anybody?"

"You say that like it's a bad thing," she said, stapling some papers together.

"It's not bad per se—"

"Per se?" she replied, finally cracking a smile.

"I'm just ready to work, I guess," Castle said, looking back down at his phone.

"Well, considering you're a writer, shouldn't you be writing?"

"Still not taking me seriously, Detective," he replied in mock hurt. "Shame on you."

"Just go home, Castle. I'll call you if we get something."

"Can't go home."

"Why?" she asked, putting down her pen.

"Mother is having a cocktail party for her new cast mates in a revival of Les Misérables off-off Broadway. She made me leave, said I would steal the spotlight. She wanted to be the Belle of the Ball, not the mother of a handsome and famous writer."

"Had to throw the handsome part in there, didn't you?" she smirked.

He put up his hands in surrender. "I only speak the truth, Detective."

She laughed at him. "Why don't you go to your bar, have a drink?"

"Will you come with me?"

"No, I'm working, Castle. Us miserables have to earn a living, you know," she told him, starting to stack the papers and put sticky notes where Gates would need to sign off on them.

"Can we at least go get a burger or something?" he tried.

"You ate an hour ago—half a pizza, I recall."

"Well, these huge muscles of mine really need—"

She cut him off with one of her death stares and he stopped talking.

"Don't you have a new game or app to try out? Or we could put you on a computer and maybe you could actually write something."

"No," he sighed. "I'll just stick with Stupid Zombies."

"Stupid Zombies?"

"Yes," he said, getting excited. He leaned over to show her his phone. "They are really stupid; they just stand there and you get to shoot them. You can even shoot their heads off. Of course it gets more complicated …"

"It always does," she said, knowingly.

"It's cool," he insisted.

"You could make us some fresh coffee," she hinted, sliding her empty mug over to him.

"So, I'm Coffee Boy now?"

"You always were Coffee Boy," Esposito said, as he and Ryan walked over. "I'll take a double cappuccino, light on the foam."

Beckett stifled a laugh at Castle's wounded look.

"After all these years, that's all I am to you? Coffee Boy?"

"It used to be Writer Boy, but since you don't seem to be doing much of that lately, Coffee Boy it is," Kate teased.

"I will have you know, Detective, that I am always writing. In here," he said, tapping his head. "Genius takes time."

"Oh, and writing about Nikki Heat solving crimes in her skimpy underwear is the product of this so-called genius?" she retaliated.

"She always has clothes on when she solves crimes!" Castle defended.

"Come on, Coffee Boy. Chop chop!" Ryan cut in.

"Maybe you can get that on a vest, Castle. Coffee Boy to the rescue!" Kate laughed.

"Maybe you could earn your paychecks by coming into my office right now," Gates said, suddenly standing right beside them, causing them all to jump. Castle dropped his phone in Beckett's trashcan, but was too scared to retrieve it.

"I mean it, my office, now," she called back to them, heading into her office.

They all pulled chairs into Gates' office and put on their serious faces.

"I just got a call," she started. "We have a rather unorthodox case and I want this team on it immediately."

"What happened, sir?" Kate asked.

"It's rather unfortunate, a tragedy really, and there was a big screwup that the Commissioner is keen on downplaying," she said.

"A man was brought into St. John's in Queens after a motorcycle accident on the Long Island Expressway. He was very badly injured—punctured lung, broken ribs, a broken leg—and was in a coma for two days.

"He woke up tonight and the first question he asked medical personnel was, 'Where is my wife?' He said his wife had been riding with him on the bike.

"Apparently the wife had been thrown from the motorcycle during the crash and had landed about twenty yards away. The onsite personnel assumed it was only the man on the bike and so never searched the area. When they went back, they found her, her body obscured by the bushes off the shoulder."

Here, Gates looked human for a split second.

"They determined that she had bled out and that, if found in time, her injuries would not have been fatal."

"She was dead?" Castle gasped.

They all looked at him like he was stupid and then Gates proceeded.

"Yes, Mr. Castle, she was dead and her death could have been avoided if she had been found at the time of the accident."

"Sir, this is certainly a tragedy, but what does this have to do with us?" Beckett interjected.

"Initial findings suggest that this may not have been an accident."

"What initial findings?" Esposito asked.

"The wife's mother has told police he and his wife had been fighting lately and that he had threatened to kill her recently. She said he had a violent temper."

"How is that even possible?" Castle intervened, incredulous. "He intentionally wrecks his bike, suffering multiple, horrific injuries, and somehow manages to throw his wife twenty yards away from the scene just before falling into a coma?"

"I agree, Sir, perhaps the mother is just upset and is looking for someone to blame," Beckett spoke up.

"I would agree with you if that wasn't all. Turns out the husband saw a stranger near his bike before they left the bar to go home."

"Is there any evidence that the bike was tampered with? Or any witnesses?" Ryan inquired.

Gates shook her head. "That bike was in about a thousand charred pieces when they got to the scene. And since it only looked like an accident at the time, they were transported to a local salvage yard. Our people had to go find the pieces at the yard, most of which were in a dumpster because they were unusable. They just got them to impound and they are looking over them now."

"None of this proves a murder took place," Beckett said.

"No, but it can't be ruled out either," Gates said, matter-of-factly.

"Why can't they handle it over there? Why are we getting involved?" Esposito asked.

"This case is of a very serious nature and needs to be handled by the best," Gates explained. She stood up and sat down on the side of her desk.

"The solve rate for murders in New York City is 59 percent. This team has a solve rate of 87 percent."

"Seriously?" Castle asked. "I am so going to Tweet that!"

"If I even see a phone in your hand, I will send you home, Mr. Castle."

"Okay, but that kick-ass solve rate has to be because of me."

"Bro," Esposito said, shaking his head.

"Sorry. And no Tweets. Promise," Castle replied seriously.

"Beckett, I want you to interview the victim and get his story. Detectives Ryan and Esposito, I want you to look into their lives and find out if anyone had motive to kill them. I also want you to canvass the bar and the patrons and find out more about this mysterious stranger."

"No problem, Sir. We're on it," Esposito said, taking the file from Gates. They left the office and headed back to their desks for their jackets.

"Beckett, I don't have to tell you how bad this makes the city look, but I want to be clear that we are not trying to cover anything up. The wife's family will be suing the city for wrongful death and I don't blame her.

"Our job is to do everything possible to find out who was responsible for this and for that, we need the best team in New York City.

"Let me be clear—I want this case solved and wrapped up with a pretty bow. When it hits the media, when her case goes to court, I want that family to know that we did everything possible to find the killer, or to rule out murder altogether. Do you understand me?"

"Absolutely, sir." Beckett nodded and stood up. As they left the precinct, Castle grabbed his phone from the trash and put it on vibrate.