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Kate had accepted Castle's offer to spend the night at his place without hesitation. She was far too upset to be alone right now and she was grateful for each distraction she could find. Of course, when he told her that he had something to show her, something important, it didn't make his case any worse.

He had taken the Crown Vic to the hospital, but she was too tired to argue with him about who should drive her service car, so she just sat down on the passenger seat and closed her eyes for a minute. It had been a long day and it would be an even longer night and she just needed a moment to relax, to shake off everything that had happened. There was nothing more she could do for Esposito. She would start her private investigation to find Ryan as soon as they got to Castle's apartment. For now she just needed to regain her strength. At least until Castle opened his mouth and added a new piece to the puzzle.

"You know, I've thought about that accent?", he said calmly as he started the engine.

"Hm-hm?", she gave back without opening her eyes.

"That was a German accent." When she didn't react, he went on: "You know, like Arnold? I'll be back?" His Terminator-imitation was quite good, but suddenly she found herself far too occupied with thoughts to respond to his words. She knew that feeling well – the feeling of a lot of puzzle pieces laying on the table, without any connection, without any visible pattern, and then suddenly, bam, the one missing piece turned up and the pattern emerged. With a jolt, Kate sat up and hissed a single word: "Zimmermann."

She didn't expect Castle to understand – the thought had come to her suddenly, unexpectedly, and she wasn't even sure of how correct her reasoning was. But it was a lot more than she had had before.

"Gesundheit!", Castle retorted with a confused side glance at her. Kate resisted her reflex to say "Thank you!" and explained instead: "No, Zimmermann! Paul Zimmermann, to be precise!" The longer she thought about it, the more it made sense. The brutal murder. Nina's debt and her desperation to find money – enough to drive her to theft. The ruthlessness of Esposito and Ryan's attackers. The German accent. It had to be Zimmermann.

Castle's confusion didn't lessen, and why would it? Luckily for him, luckily for all of them really, there hadn't been a case involving Paul Zimmermann in a long time and she had actually hoped that he had finally found his match and had disappeared somewhere on the bottom of the Hudson, but now she wasn't so sure any more. So with a sigh she started to explain: "I take it you haven't heard of Paul Zimmermann before?" When Castle just shook his head, she continued in a hushed voice: "There isn't that much known about him. Most of it is word on the street about a German crime boss who's involved in drugs, gambling, prostitution, you name it. I know Ryan …" At the thought of her partner she had to swallow hard. Please don't let it be the same guys. Castle gave her a questioning look, but didn't comment on her behavior as she continued: "I know Ryan had a few brush ins with some of his dealers during his time at Narcotics, but even though they arrested quite a few of them, they never managed to trace anything back to Zimmermann himself. Most of them just accepted their sentence without protest, and those who tried to strike a deal were…" She didn't continue and she knew she didn't have to. These things were pretty self-explanatory.

"A German Godfather", Castle whispered in awe.

Kate rolled her eyes and tried to get the conversation back on track: "Zimmermann's men are known for their brutal way of handling outstanding debts, and considering what happened to Nina, it's possible she wasn't able to pay him back." Running through the details of the case quickly once more, she was able to see the inconsistency in her reasoning and mused: "But if it was money they were after, then why not take the valuables in Nina's house?" There was still something missing, some small piece that would help this case make sense. "What were they looking for?"

At that, Castle actually smirked, which made her raise a brow in puzzlement. "I think I might be able to help you out with that question", he grinned and pulled up in front of his apartment.

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Between his aching head and stomach, his double vision, the shaking ground beneath him and the nerve-wracking images of Javier lying in that pool of blood that he just couldn't banish from his mind, Ryan didn't really manage to keep track of time. How long had he been lying on the bottom of the van? Ten minutes? Half an hour? His kidnappers had soon lost interest in him – he couldn't blame them, he probably wasn't all that entertaining in his current condition – and had begun talking quietly in their foreign tongue. The more he listened, the surer Ryan was that he had heard the language before, but it was one word in particular that caught his attention and set his thoughts into motion: Polizei.

German. Damn, they must have hit him harder than he'd suspected considering it had taken him that long to figure out why he'd thought both their accent and their native tongue sounded so familiar. Then again, it had been several years since he had last been involved in an investigation where their suspects had spoken German, and it wasn't really a memory he'd been keen on digging up; especially that one case had been haunting him for a long, long time and he'd been more than happy when the memory had finally faded. The dead drug dealer hadn't been a pretty sight, and the lack of evidence leading from him to the men behind his petty drug dealing ring had been nothing else but deeply frustrating. Putting everything he'd ever learned into this one investigation, spending sleepless nights and unnerving days, he'd eventually come close – so goddamn close… and yet not close enough. As the memories came back to him, he forced himself to look up at his two captors again, but he was pretty sure he hadn't seen them before. That didn't mean they weren't working for Zimmermann – there weren't that many German speaking killers in New York as far as he knew, and if he remembered correctly, Zimmermann was known for surrounding himself with hit men from his home country. Very efficient hit men, he thought with a shudder as he recalled the times one of his suspects was ready to talk and was found dead shortly after, not to speak of the dismembered dealer who had probably served as a warning to others not to get caught.

But there hadn't been anything resembling Zimmermann's M.O. for so long, he'd assumed the guy had disappeared, one way or another. Or hoped, rather. But if Nina had indeed been taken out by his henchmen, she had been in way deeper into something illegal than any of her so-called friends had hinted or possibly even known.

He'd been lost so deep into thought that the sudden pain in his ribs caught him completely by surprise and made it impossible to hold back a tormented gasp. The guy with the boots, Tank Top, pulled his foot back with a sadistic grin and said something to the other man that made Ryan shudder. He didn't understand the whole sentence, but there was a name at the end of it that did ring a bell, unfortunately. And the tone of voice left Ryan with no doubt that the guy wasn't too pleased with his sudden discovery. "Wusst ich doch, dass ich den Namen schon mal gehört hab! Das ist doch der Bulle, der Herbert hat auffliegen lassen!" Herbert. Herbert Mayer. Of course. That had been the name of the dealer Ryan had busted, the guy that had ended up in very, very small pieces as if somebody really had taken his time with him.

Had he been afraid before? That was nothing compared to the all-encompassing fear he felt now that he had solid proof that these were, in fact, Zimmermann's men. He was so screwed.