Castle woke up slumped in his desk chair.

His head was resting on the desk; one of his arms was dangling by his side; and his other hand was still on his laptop keyboard. He had watched two zombie movies with Alexis before she turned off the television and headed up to bed, telling him to do the same. But instead he had returned to his office and continued going through the long list of people Kate had put in jail. Ryan had given him access to the files, but it was slow work that bore very little fruit – he still had nothing to show for the hours he had poured into it. He must've fallen asleep while working at some ungodly hour of the morning, and he was torn between cursing himself for not staying up and continuing to work and cursing himself for not going to sleep earlier so that he could have more energy for this day.

He sat up, blinking repeatedly to bring the world into focus; once the fog had cleared, he could see Alexis through the open door of his office, sitting at the kitchen counter, eating a bowl of cereal. She smiled at him, picked something up from beside her, and stood up, walking towards him.

It wasn't until she put what she was holding down on the desk in front of him that he realized what it was. His Richard Castle mug, full of coffee that she must've just brewed, because it was still steaming hot. "Thanks," he muttered blearily, picking it up and taking a sip of the scalding drink. It burned his throat as it went down, but he was grateful for the caffeine – he would need it.

"I told you to go to sleep," she chided him.

Sometimes, Castle would wonder who the parent in this relationship was. "I know."

Then he would remember that it was definitely Alexis.

"Ryan called," she said. "You should head down to the precinct, if you're not too tired."

"I'm not," he replied, forcing himself to stand up and taking another gulp of coffee. "Where's Grams?"

"Teaching a class," Alexis replied.

"You okay here alone?"

"Of course." She smiled. "Go."

Castle moved slowly on his way to the door, due not only to his exhaustion but also to his desire to finish his mug of coffee. Still, he tried to drink it quickly – every second he wasted was another second that Kate was trapped wherever she was, alone, another chance for whoever took her to do her harm. If they hadn't already. But that thought was miserable and painful and awful and he tried his best to banish it from his mind.

When he arrived at the precinct, Ryan was waiting for him. He simply beckoned to him and began to walk away. Castle had to jog to catch up to him; following just behind him, he asked "Any leads on Kate?"

Ryan shook his head. Castle's heart dropped, but he forced himself to keep walking. "Angela?"

Ryan began to shake his head again, but stopped, thought about it for a second, and then shrugged.

"Sort of."

A nod from Ryan, signaling his assent. Then he pushed his way into the lounge. Castle followed him inside, puzzled, but his confusion did not last long; Esposito was standing in the center of the room, staring up at the boxy television. Ryan glanced quickly between the two before turning and leaving the lounge.

"The media's having a field day with our case," Esposito said, a touch of anger in his tone as he pointed at the screen. Castle looked up to see the words BRUTAL MURDER CONNECTED TO MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCE? glaring down at him. An attractive female reporter with light orange hair pulled back in a ponytail held a microphone up to her lips – she was speaking, but the volume wasn't very high and Castle couldn't make out the words.

"We haven't released the details to the press yet, have we?" he asked.

"No," Esposito replied.

"They still think that the victim's Angela Duchamp?"

"Yeah."

Castle stared intently at the television; as he watched, a simple headshot of Angela Duchamp, not unlike the one currently clipped to their murder board, appeared on the screen next to the reporter's head. She was pretty, Angela was, with high cheekbones, a thin face, pursed lips, and rich blue eyes. Castle still could not hear what the reporter was saying, and he had no wish to – until a second picture popped up on the other side of the screen.

"Turn up the volume," he said suddenly.

Esposito shrugged and grabbed the remote, doing as Castle had asked; the reporter's voice slowly magnified until her words were understandable.

"…coincided almost exactly with the disappearance of one of her closest friends, Charlotte O'Malley. Charlotte's parents have not seen or heard from their daughter since the morning of two days ago, when Charlotte left to spend the day with Angela. Could the disappearance of this girl somehow be related to the death of her friend? We take a –"

"Look," Castle said, pointing up at the screen. "Look at Charlotte."

Esposito shrugged again. "She's a pretty girl."

"And she looks almost exactly like Angela." It wasn't really true. Charlotte's wavy blond hair was the exact same shade as Angela's, but other than that, they didn't look too much alike. Charlotte's face was rounder, her cheeks fuller, her nose smaller, her eyes a light brown. Where Angela was mature, beautiful, and sexy, Charlotte was young, cute, and innocent. But their fake Angela had been shot multiple times in the face, as though her killer had wanted to obliterate her identity. But, like Lanie had said, they'd done a shabby job of it… the girl still had jewelry that identified her… but if the girl wasn't Angela, the jewelry wasn't hers…

Her face destroyed, her features obliterated, left with nothing to show who she was but a necklace and a ring. Almost as though the killer had wanted the police to think that she was Angela…

"You're right," Esposito said thoughtfully, staring up at the picture of Charlotte.

"The best friend of the girl our victim was dressed up as disappears the night of our vic's death? That can't be a coincidence," Castle insisted. "Our Jane Doe is Charlotte O'Malley." He pulled out his phone and opened the Facebook app, tapping into the Search bar and beginning to type.

"What are you doing?" Esposito asked.

"Looking up Charlotte's Facebook profile."

"What if she doesn't have one?"

"She's nineteen. She has one." A profile appeared, and he forced a triumphant grin. "Got it!" He tapped on Photos and began flicking through it, searching for some feature other than those on her face to identify Charlotte as their victim. Height was a no-go – in 80% of her pictures, Charlotte was with Angela, and the two were within an inch of each other's heights. They had nearly identical body types, with tiny waists and long, skinny arms and legs. It wasn't until he reached a picture of the two girls in bikini bathing suits, arm in arm, laughing in front of a foaming sea, without a clue that soon one or both of them would be dead, that he found something.

"There," he said, pointing to the screen. "Charlotte has a tattoo on her left hip. Words, it looks like." He tried to zoom in on that spot in the photo, but the letters were curly and fancy and the photo had clearly been taken with a cell phone – the resolution wasn't that great. "I can't make them out." He exited out of Facebook and looked up at Esposito. "Call Lanie. Tell her to check the victim's left side for tattooed words." Esposito nodded, pulled out his cell phone, and began to dial Lanie's number.

"Hey!" Ryan poked his head into the lounge. "Castle, get out here!"

The words were not the only thing that sent Castle running out of the room after Ryan. The way he said it, the tone of his voice… Castle was nearly convinced that this could only mean one thing.

"Look at this," Ryan said once they'd arrived at his desk, pointing at the screen. A mug shot of a teenage girl was up on the screen. Her hair was black and wavy, falling past her elbows; her eyes were wide and rich chocolate brown, just slightly slanted; and her cheekbones were high and pronounced. Her face screamed of Asian ancestry, and her figure was small and delicate.

"Amelia Trudeau," Ryan said.

"Who'd she kill?" Castle interrupted.

"No one, actually. Beckett got her on harboring a fugitive. Her boyfriend, Lewis Hayes, killed a man who broke into his house. Trudeau admitted to hiding him, knowing full well that he was wanted for murder, but claimed she didn't believe him capable of killing."

"And she got out recently?"

"Very recently. Just a few weeks ago after a five-year sentence. Hayes is still in jail."

Castle nodded. Amelia Trudeau fit the profile the DNA tests had provided. She was put in jail by Kate and recently released. Not only that, but Lewis Hayes' continued imprisonment could give her further reason to hold a grudge. "Do we have an address?"

"Yeah. Her parents helped her buy a small apartment not far from here."

"Alright. Let's go get her."

"Yo!" Esposito stepped out of the lounge, walking towards Ryan and Castle. "Lanie says she'll check the body for that tattoo."

"What tattoo?" Ryan asked, puzzled.

"Long story," Castle put in.

"Anyways," Esposito continued, "what's going on out here?"

"Amelia Trudeau is going on," Ryan replied. "Arrested by Kate for harboring a fugitive, recently got out, and living nearby. Also, black hair, brown eyes, and Asian ancestry."

"Basically, we think we have a lead," Castle added. "You staying here to wait for Lanie to call?"

"Not a chance," Esposito replied immediately. "What's her address?"