Castle walked around the body, looking at it from every angle. He knelt down and examined the deep furrows in the woman's chest. Beckett came up next to him and said, "No sick jokes right now Castle. I don't want to hear about people killing ho's but hoes killing people."
Castle looked up, frowning at Kate as he did so. "You wound me Detective Beckett, do you really believe I would say that?"
"Yes," was the scoffed response.
"I will admit that I have made so bad jokes but really you would think me that crass? Maybe if it were a man I would have said his rake-ish good look did him in but nothing about hoes. I know my garden implements, and there is no way a hoe killed that woman, the spacing is far too equal and all of the wounds are the same depth," Castle told Beckett.
"How do you know it was a rake that killed her?" Beckett asked, ignoring Castle's joke.
"I do a lot of research for my books," he defended.
"You researched the effects of killing a person with a rake for a book?" Beckett asked incredulously. She had read all of Castle's books and not once was there someone murdered with a garden tool.
"No, it was a trowel but I did look in to the possibility of other tools as well. But that wasn't my only clue." Castle was enjoying tormenting Kate Beckett so early in the morning.
"Well?" she asked impatiently.
"The fact that there is a rake on the top of that stack of pallets," he said pointing out the stacked carriers nearly the entire length of the warehouse away. "I'm a writer, I notice things."