Kate's got two murder boards. Not because there were two murders, but because on one, she's outlined the previous eight murders committed by Jerry Tyson, with and without his partner. The original six strangled women from almost five years ago, and then the two from eight months ago. Now working on filling in the facts on Donna Gallagher, Kate's apprehension fills her up again.
She pauses, takes a step back, and looks at the board. What is it that makes her so. . .uneasy?
While Lanie worked on the autopsies from midnight on, Kate managed to get a few minutes sleep here and there. She sent Castle home to his family and tried to not to think about him, about their interrupted date, about all the promises in his touch. Then Lanie called her thirty minutes ago to say she was finished, so they met up halfway so Lanie could hand off the ME's report.
Kate caps the dry erase marker and sits on the edge of her desk, stares. Something is there. Something fills her with dread, but she can't get at it. Can't yet see it.
She shuffles through the crime scene photos again, fans them out on her desk. After a moment, she props her feet up in Castle's chair, leans her elbows on her knees, and rubs her temples.
"Take some advil, Beckett."
She glances up and is surprised to see Castle walking through the bullpen. "What are you doing here?"
"Couldn't sleep."
She frowns at him as he stops beside her. "Did you even try?" It's only three in the morning. He's still in his goofy tshirt and jeans.
"No."
"Castle."
"You're here. I'm here."
She gives him a look. Where was this attitude when she was filling out paperwork late on a Friday night? "That's new."
He grins. "Yeah it is. I know. This is new too." He might as well have named it out loud, this thing between them.
Kate sighs and glances to the murder board, the photos still spread out under her fingers. Castle knocks his hand into her knees, toppling her from his chair.
"That's mine."
She plants her feet back in his chair.
Castle lays his hand on her knees, his broad palm covers both of them, barely, his fingers twitching. It's three a.m. and no one else is around; her heart pounds suddenly and it's not dread.
Taking a breath, she says, "You weren't here. You snooze, you lose."
She watches him take a quick look around the precinct and then he leans in and puts his mouth to her ear, planting one hand by her hip, keeping his balance with one hand on her knees. "You sleep in with me, Kate, and we both win."
She turns her head just a fraction, enough to let her lips brush the side of his cheek, rough and unshaven, and touches her tongue to her bottom lip, just to let him almost feel it. "Castle?"
He grunts something that might be anything, his fingers on her knees squeezing.
"Get your hands off my crime scene photos. You're smudging them."
He jerks back, giving her time to catch her breath as she pretends to rub fingerprints off the photos using the hem of her tshirt. She pauses at the series of photos showing the kitchen, leafs through those again.
"Castle, take a look at these." She passes them over, glancing at him as she does. "Tell me what you see."
He grunts again, looks both disconcerted and intense, but takes the photos. "What am I looking for?"
"Something is just. . .wrong. I don't know. It's bothering me." She stands up again and heads to the murder board. Behind her, Castle takes her place at the edge of her desk; she can feel him gathering his attention again, focusing on the photos.
"Wrong?"
"Come on, Castle," she sighs. "It's there. I know it. Just. . ."
"It's just the two cups, Kate. Two cups on a kitchen counter, lipstick stains, the water left in the bottom of them, although you can't really see it from this angle-"
"Wait. Wait. What?" She jumps back, hunches over him at the desk, reaches around his shoulder to grab the photo of the cups.
He touches her waist. "You can't see the water at that angle, but she must have-"
"No, the other thing. Where?" She feels his hand at her hip, as if to steady her.
"What? Where what?" He lets go of the photo so she can have it, looking at her so that his face is close, too close.
She straightens up so that his hand dislodges, pulls the photo up close to her nose to study it. "Lipstick stains."
Castle leans forward to look, tapping the photo. "Right there. On the cup."
Orangey-coral. Just a small little smudge, barely there. Lipstick stain. She shoves the photo back at Castle and reaches past him for the ME's report, flipping through the pages to find the prelim exam. Nothing. Nothing. "There's got to be something about this. Lipstick. I just. . ."
"What was it you said earlier? In Donna's apartment."
"I said a lot of things earlier," she murmurs, reading over Lanie's notes. Her friend finished both autopsies in just over three hours, could she have rushed it too much and missed something?
"About being afraid. What did you say Kate? Eight months isn't enough time. . ."
She thumbs through the detailed notes about the weight of each organ, back to the beginning, the visual exam of the body. "Eight months isn't enough time? Oh, it's not enough time to let a strange man in your apartment. She was nearly killed by Marcus Gates; the rope marks around her neck would have only just healed. You don't forget that. A man comes to your door, you don't let him in." She runs her finger down the report. "Lipstick. Coral lipstick."
"Coral?" Castle grunts beside her, starts talking again. "A strange man comes to your door, you don't let him in," he repeats slowly. "You don't let in a strange man. You wouldn't, would you? Maybe she didn't let in a strange man at all."
Nothing. No mention. Is it just not an important detail? She can't remember if other autopsies have mentioned the victim's make up before. "We need to to go the morgue, Castle. I've got to look at Donna's body again." Lipstick. It's haunting her.
She moves around him for her jacket, checks her holster for her gun and badge.
"You wouldn't let in a man. But say a woman buzzes your apartment building, says she has a flat tire. She's desperate. It's been raining-"
"It's not raining," she says distractedly, half listening to him. She pulls out her phone to call Lanie, have her meet them at the morgue. She hates to disturb her, but she needs to see the body. "You coming?"
Castle follows slowly as she makes a dash to the elevator, feeling a sense of urgency. Castle is still talking.
"She just wants to call someone for help. Needs a phone book, doesn't have Triple A on her cell. You pour her some water as she makes her phone call. You wouldn't be afraid of a woman."
Kate stops, her finger on the call button for the elevator, turns to look at him. "Castle." You wouldn't be afraid of a woman, he said. A woman.
He's got his phone out, his thumb rubbing over it. "You've been warned about Jerry Tyson, but not a woman. Kate. I need. I should call my daughter. I need to call-"
"Call her on the way, Castle." She tugs him into the elevator after her, watching as he speed dials his daughter. Her heart is pounding. You wouldn't be afraid of a woman.
"If she doesn't answer-"
Kate finally looks at him, clicks over to his wave length, figures it out. "If she doesn't answer we go straight to your apartment. Sirens on," she promises. Alexis might let in a woman; Alexis wouldn't be afraid of a woman.
He nods, his throat working to swallow. He holds the phone up to his ear.
She reaches out and captures his free hand, squeezes it, steps in close. "She's fine."
