Kate stirred. Opening her eyes, she wondered for a moment where she was, then she focused on the page in front of her.

'Candy took one long, last, hard look at the man lying in the bed, his defined muscles begging her to reach out and run a finger down them, to lift the sheet away from his hips and …'

Of course. Serpent's Tooth. Not one of Castle's best, but his fans didn't mind. Sometimes she wondered why he didn't just copy out the New York telephone directory and add in a few sex scenes – it would probably sell as well as any of the Storm books. Although she wasn't going to suggest any such thing since he was probably insane enough to try it.

Dropping the book on the sofa next to her, Kate stood up, groaning slightly as a few aches and pains made themselves known. It wasn't the first time she'd slept in an awkward position, and undoubtedly it wouldn't be the last either, but that didn't stop her muscles protesting.

What she needed was a shower, but how she was going to manage that with her arm still bandaged up was going to be difficult. Still, not impossible.

Fifteen minutes later she was dressing, somewhat pleased with herself. The dressing was barely damp, and she'd even managed to wash her hair. Now, if she could only remember where she'd put her hairdryer ...

Someone knocked on the front door. From force of habit, and – sad to say – experience, she made sure her gun was in easy reach before peering through the spyhole. Damn. Greg Albery.

She flung the door open, her face set. "What?"

Her neighbour actually took a step back. "What? Oh. I just ..." He held out a basket. "I wanted to apologise. You know. For the music."

She glanced inside, seeing it was filled with muffins. "That isn't necessary."

"Yes, it is." He smiled, somewhat tentatively, given her apparent mood. "I was taught to offer gifts when apologising. It's more ... polite." He tipped the basket a little more. "I got those little double chocolate ones. You know. The kind you like."

Her eyes narrowed. "How do you know what I like, Greg?"

He shrugged, a guilty look crossing his face. "I just ... I noticed the last time you bought some. The empty box was in your trash with the receipt, so I went ... and ... and … asked." He stammered to a halt.

"You went through my garbage?" Her tone was now icy.

"You know, you really shouldn't leave receipts in bags," he went on, talking fast now to try and fill his obvious blunder. "I know someone who had her entire identity stolen because she didn't shred. If you want, I can let you use my shredder. It only takes a few seconds and –"

She interrupted. "Greg. That's bordering on stalking."

"No, not ... not stalking."

"I could arrest you."

"I just ..." He looked embarrassed. "You're my muse."

"What?"

"My muse. In my writing. My inspiration. My incentive. My –"

"I know what it means." Another one, she thought to herself. What is it about me? Do I wear the wrong perfume or something? Does it attract them? Aloud she said, "Stop this, Greg. I'm not interested."

"But you're so beautiful. If I could just –"

"No." She suppressed the sigh that threatened. "Greg, you're a nice boy. But that's all you are. A boy. You need a girl your own age, and – no, don't interrupt. I may only be a couple of years older than you, but it's enough."

"But I like older women –"

"I'm not interested. So no more muffins, or gifts, or anything else. Just keep the music down, and we'll say good morning in the elevator, or good night in the hall, but that's it. There will never, ever be anything more."

"Did you have a bad night or something?" he asked, genuinely concerned.

This time the sigh slid past her lips. He wasn't listening. So unless she actually got her gun out and shot him ... "Greg, go home. I have to get to work."

"Oh. Okay." He turned, then stopped. "I ... um ... got you a paper." He held it out, only waiting long enough for her to take it before hurrying back inside his own apartment.

She closed the door and leaned on it, pulling back immediately as she felt the bullet wound sting. Resisting the urge to rub at it, she dropped the paper on the hall table, her eyes lighting on her coat hanging up next to it. Her favourite coat, as it happened.

She reached up, fingering the hole in the sleeve, noting the stain all across the back.

It wasn't all Castle's fault, she knew. He was just trying to help, taking her out of the line of fire, even though she was fully in control. In fact, if he hadn't dragged her to the sidewalk she might have been able to identify the driver, perhaps even got a shot off, stopped the perp in his tracks. Instead all she had to show for it was a ruined coat, and stitches.

All because Castle was determined that Merrick Canfield was somehow responsible for the death of one or maybe both of the Tylers, despite proof that he couldn't be. Although current evidence did seem to suggest they were getting warmer, unless this had been just a random drive-by.

No. She shook her head. It wasn't going to be intuition that solved this crime – it was going to be good, solid police work, something Castle knew absolutely nothing about. Well, maybe something. A little. Okay, he had an idea.

A trickle of cold ran down her neck, and she realised she'd been interrupted in her search for the hairdryer. Better find it so she could get to that work, or she might just catch pneumonia. That wouldn't do ... Castle would probably insist on bringing her flowers every day. A slight smile lit her lips. Although that might be nice. Once in a while.

The smile died as she glanced at the photo in the newspaper, bottom right of the front page. It had been planned, of course, this slow release of information, but as she went to dry her hair she wondered just what lunatics it was going to bring out of the woodwork.

---

For the second morning in as many days, Rick awoke on the sofa, but this time he realised he was not alone. He had his feet on the coffee table, Maggie was curled up against his side, snoring gently, and Alexis was sitting opposite, watching.

Alexis.

"Ah." He grinned. "Morning."

"Morning. And shh, you'll wake Maggie."

He glanced down at the woman next to him. "Nah. Mags was never a morning person. It'll take a bomb going off, or maybe the smell of good coffee, to wake her up."

"She was up before you yesterday," Alexis said shrewdly.

"You noticed that, did you?"

"I notice a lot of things." She nodded down at the dirty plates on the table. "Did you have a good time after I went to bed?"

"Well, I would have offered to make you eggs as well, but I didn't think you'd appreciate being woken up, even by your old dad. Not with that test you've got today."

"Mmn. Thoughtful."

"Exactly."

Alexis uncurled from the chair. "You need to shower."

"Do I smell or something?"

"Or something," she agreed.

"What time is it?" he asked, extricating himself with care and laying Maggie down on the sofa. She snuffled but didn't wake.

"A litte after eight."

"Do you have any idea what time we finally went to sleep?" he asked, running his hands through his hair and following her into the hall.

"Do you?"

"Well, no. But it wasn't that long ago."

She smiled. "Are you getting old, Dad?"

"Who, me?"

"You used to stay out all night, then write all day before going clubbing again." She sighed theatrically. "You're not as young as you used to be."

"And you're a brat."

Alexis grinned. "I try." She glanced past him back to where Maggie was still sleeping. "You know, you keep doing this, you're going to have to marry her," she pointed out.

"Sorry to shatter your illusions, but if that was the case, I'd be a bigamist a few thousand times over."

"Too much information, Dad."

He headed for his bedroom, and a hot shower. "You brought it up."

"I suppose I did." She leaned on the door, watching him take fresh clothes from the wardrobe. "No, the blue one. It goes with your eyes."

"You think?" He held the shirt against himself, shrugged, then tossed it onto the bed and put the brown one back.

"So, did you and Kate solve the crime yet?"

"No. Not quite." He stopped, his forehead furrowed. "Although, come to think of it ... last night I was having this dream, and I –"

She held up a hand. "Do I want to hear any more?"

"Not that kind of dream. I admit, my dreams are usually NC-17, but I'm just lucky that way." He grinned. "Anyway, no. This was about the case. And it all fitted together neatly. I knew who'd done it, and why, and how."

"So? Who did it?"

"Damned if I can remember." He shook his head. "Although I'm pretty sure it wasn't the six foot pink rabbit."

"Rabbit?"

"I think that was me in a bunny suit."

"Did you have a fluffy white tail? Like you did for my sixth birthday party?"

He grinned at the memory. "Of course." That's what Alexis had wanted, so he'd dressed up, made himself look a fool for all her classmates. Whatever she wanted – and that hadn't changed.

"So what else was in it?" she urged, seeing him get slightly misty-eyed. "Your dream last night."

"Twins. Lots of twins." He looked surprised as some of it came back to him. "Even you had a twin."

"Hmn. Two of me."

"Even more to love," he said, smiling, then went into his bathroom, stripping his clothes off as he went, and a moment later there was the sound of the shower being switched on. "Do you want a lift to school on my way to the precinct?" he asked, above the sound of the water running.

"Yes, please. Only don't go signing any more autographs."

"Hey, they asked me! And it was only the once."

"You ruin my street cred."

He peered around the door, one eyebrow raised. "Your street cred?"

"Yes." She stuck her tongue out at him, which he reciprocated then ducked back. "Anyway, isn't Kate going to be picking you up?"

"Not this morning. If she's got any sense she'll stay at home." The water sound changed as he obviously climbed into the shower.

"So why are you going in?"

"What?"

She moved to look into the bathroom. "Why are you going in if Kate isn't?"

He slid the shower door open a little. "Because I suspect she hasn't got any sense at all, and she'll be there before I am." He glanced down at himself. "And get out of my bathroom. I'm naked."

"Dad, you remember the conversation we had about you wandering about at three in the morning?"

"And you remember my comments about Child Services?"

"Point taken." She strolled away, saying over her shoulder, "Oh, I picked up the newspaper. I think you'll want to see it."

Rick paused in the act of washing his hair, his curiosity piqued. Finishing his shower as quickly as he could, he wrapped a towel around his waist and walked back into his bedroom. There, on the duvet, was the New York Times.

It wasn't exactly the headline, but it had made the front page. A photo of one of the twins, which one he wouldn't have been able to say if the caption hadn't read 'Amanda Tyler'. The article was headed up 'Body Found – Links to Jewel Theft?' and went into somewhat lurid detail about exactly how. Quickly skimming the article, Rick felt his jaw tightening.

"Dad." Alexis was back, a mug of coffee in her hand.

"Thanks." He looked up at her. "Alexis, are you okay with all this? I mean, seeing that girl like that at the Awards ..."

She gazed at him, and yet again he was struck by how adult she seemed to be, and wondered if she'd missed out on being a child because he'd never grown up.

"It was difficult, realising she was actually … you know … dead. But I've been chatting with Maggie, and … I'm fine."

"Only if you want to talk to someone professionally, if it would help –"

"Dad, honestly." She smiled. "I'm okay. And once you and Kate find this man and put him behind bars, I'll be even better."

He held out his arms and she crossed the room to him, letting herself be hugged tightly. "I never wanted you involved in this, you know that."

"I know, Dad." She closed her eyes, feeling safe. "And when I need therapy I'll let you know."

"Good."

She let go and stood back. "Now get dressed. You can't go out crime fighting in just a towel."

"I don't know. It could be quite an interesting costume."

"Mmn. Flasherman. I'll make sure I have bail ready."

His laughter followed her out of the bedroom.

---

He was right. As the doors to the elevator opened, he could see Kate leaning over Esposito as they studied something on a computer screen.

"What are you doing here?" Rick asked, his tone resigned.

"Oddly enough, I work here." She straightened up, and almost completely hid the slight wince as she did so. "What's your excuse?"

For once he didn't say what was on the tip of his tongue, didn't ask if she was okay. "So, have we got any further?"

"Not really," Esposito said, earning a glare from his boss.

Ryan walked into the squad room, half an uneaten Danish in his hand. He gestured with it. "Witnesses didn't see the driver, but put the car as a brown Ford. Or maybe a Chevy. Or a Mustang. Maybe."

"And I didn't get a good look at it," Kate said, going back to her desk.

"Fine. Next time I'll let them shoot you," Rick said, turning towards the espresso machine before remembering it was still broken. "Didn't they come by to fix that yet?"

"We've got more important things to worry about than your coffee."

One eyebrow raised. "Get out of the wrong side of someone else's bed this morning, did you?" The other eyebrow joined it. "Or did you have trouble with your neighbour again?"

She had enough of his insight. "Castle, the Captain's already had the Mayor's aide on the phone, plus the Sheikh's embassy has got in on the act, and they all want to know when we're going to be making an arrest. And all I had to tell them was that we've been chasing ghosts."

"You mean Canfield."

"The very same."

"I still say he's our man."

She glared at him. "Prove it."

"I was trying to." He dropped the newspaper on her desk. "I suppose that's what this is about."

Kate barely glanced at it. "Someone knows something."

"And so do we."

"Castle –"

"Is that why there's no mention of Michelle?"

She sighed. "The press is going to find out eventually, probably through Dominic Tyler, no matter we asked him not to. But until then we can shake the tree, see who falls out."

"Good plan."

"I think so." The phone on her desk rang, and she picked it up. "Detective Beckett."

"This is Dominic Tyler."

Kate gave a start, having only just mentioned the man a moment ago, and immediately had a mental image of the twins' grandfather as she'd last seen him, standing in his doorway in the cold, his arms wrapped around his body, watching them drive away. "Mr Tyler. What can I do for you?"

Rick's ears perked up and he moved closer so he could hear the other side of the conversation.

"I just thought … you said anything that occurred to me."

"Of course. And what did?"

There was a slight pause. "Amanda used to keep a scrapbook. All sorts of things. Cinema tickets, programmes, photos of her friends … only it's gone."

"Gone?"

"After you left yesterday, I went through her bedroom. I ... I don't know what I expected to find, but I know where Mandy kept the scrapbook. It was her pride and joy, and she always ..." He stopped, and an odd sound came over the wires.

Kate could tell he was crying, but she had to be professional. "Did Michelle know where it was kept?"

He sniffed hard. "Yes, of course she did. Why, do you think she took it?"

"We have to look into every possibility, Mr Tyler."

"Of course."

"And thank you for calling me. If there's anything else, don't hesitate."

"I won't. Detective Beckett?"

"Yes?"

"You will find the man who did this, won't you?"

Kate caught Rick's eye. "We're doing our best."

"Of course. Thank you." He hung up without saying goodbye.

"Scrap book?" Rick said softly as Kate put the phone down. "You think it might have her killer in it?"

Kate shrugged. "I think it's likely. Whoever killed Amanda Tyler ... she knew him."

"That's your gut talking."

"No, it's not." She crossed her arms. "It's experience."

He mirrored her. "Gut."

"Castle ..." She took a deep breath. "You know, this is moot. Canfield can't have killed Michelle – we know he was on stage at the Blue Cat club thanks to your friend Brock."

"What about Amanda? What was he doing when she was killed?"

Kate's eyes narrowed. "Lanie put her time of death around three days before she was found."

"Around three days." He leaned on the desk and looked at her. "Vague, don't you think?"

She gazed at him, her face inscrutable, then she reached past him and picked up the phone again, dialling quickly. She only had to wait a moment before the other end picked up. "It's Kate Beckett. Is Dr Parish there?" She listened. "Then can you ask her to call me as soon as she's finished? It's about the Tyler case. Thanks." She hung up and looked at Rick. "Lanie's apparently up to her elbows in someone else's guts at the moment."

"Nice image."

"I thought you'd like it."

"Hey, Rick?" Esposito threw a wadded up ball of paper. "I think this is for you."

Rick turned around, seeing a delivery guy, barely more than a boy, still showing the signs of teenage acne on his face. "Mr Castle?"

"That's me," Rick said.

"Sign here." He handed over a clipboard, which Rick signed with a flourish then exchanged for a smallish box.

"Thank you." Rick reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet, selecting a bill. "Here."

The young man stared at the c-note. "Wow. Thanks!" He hurried off before anyone could change their mind.

"What was that?" Kate asked.

Rick quickly opened the box, dropping the plastic wrap and foam inserts into the bin. He held up a new cellphone. "Excellent," he said, smiling.

"You ordered that to be delivered here?" Kate couldn't quite believe it.

"Of course. I was pretty sure it wouldn't get stolen." He grinned wider at her then pressed the on-button, seeing the screen lighting up. "It does everything," he said, showing Esposito and Ryan. "The camera's as good as the best digital handheld, it records video as well, with sound, and it has the latest voice activation chip technology –"

"You asked for it to be delivered here?" Kate repeated.

"Well, technically, I could claim for it, since I broke the last one saving your life." He could see she was about to say something he was likely to regret, so went on quickly, "But I won't be. I just needed a replacement, so I decided on one with the latest upgrades."

"How old was the old one?" she couldn't help but ask.

"Couple of months."

She glared at him. "Are you ever going to grow up?"

He waved the phone at her. "It's a gadget, Kate. All men like gadgets. If it's got an on button or batteries, you can be pretty sure we want one."

"Really."

A mental image formed in his head, and he would have blushed if he'd been that kind of man. "Actually, I have bought one or two in my time. As gifts, you understand."

Her lips actually twitched, but she said, "If you only broke the old one last night, how did you manage to get the new one so quickly?"

Rick laughed. "My dear Kate, money talks, and when you've got a lot, it tends to shout really loudly."

"I should have known." She picked up the phone that had started to ring. "Beckett."

The medical examiner's voice was warm. "Hey, Kate. I just got your message."

"Finished doing … whatever it was you were doing?"

"Mostly. This particular victim died of a single gunshot wound to the liver, bled out, then somehow managed to impale himself on a metal railing."

Kate shook her head. "Not one of mine, I hope."

"Nope, not this time." There was a soft chuckle. "Now, what did you want me for?"

"I was wondering about –"

"Time of death?" Lanie interrupted.

Kate smiled grimly. "You're a mind reader."

"I have to be. Actually, I was going to call you. The results on Amanda Tyler came back, and I need to revise it."

"Hold on. Let me put you on speaker." Kate pressed a button. "How much?"

Lanie's voice was amplified, tinny. "It's more like five to six days."

"How come?" Rick asked.

"Oh, hey, Castle." Lanie was probably smiling. "I told you it was going to be difficult to be precise, and wherever she was kept was cold."

"Kept?" Kate was making notes.

"It turns out rigor had just started to set in before she was crammed into that case."

"How long, Lanie?"

"If she was kept cold – and I mean cold, not frozen, there's no sign of cell disruption – then rigor could have been put off as long as maybe ten hours."

"So she could have been dumped anything up to six days ago."

"That's my opinion."

Kate took a deep breath. "Could she have been dead as long as a week?"

There was a pause. "Possibly. Outside chance. Kept cold, away from … yes, possible."

"Damn."

"Why?"

"Nothing. Anything else?"

"That trace I found inside her bra? It's spray-on skin."

"What?"

"It's used to cover up minor cuts, abrasions."

"So he could have –" Rick began, but she waved him to silence.

"Is that it?"

"Oh, no. You know I save the best 'til last. We've managed to isolate the poison that killed Michelle Tyler. It was Tetrodotoxin."

"What?"

"Puffer fish poison. It can take as little as a few minutes to kill, especially in the concentration we found in Michelle's body. Numbness, sweating, rapid heart rate … then the diaphragm gets paralysed and it's all over. Basically she suffocated."

"And it was definitely on that needle?"

"Definitely."

"How much would it take?"

"Well, a puffer fish contains enough poison to kill thirty adult males. Less than one half a milligram. Anyone collect rare fish that you know of?"

"Not at the moment." She waved at Ryan, who nodded and immediately began compiling a list of possible sellers. "Thanks, Lanie."

"No problem. Just let me know when you catch this maniac, will you? No-one should go around doing this sort of thing to little girls."

Kate hung up then looked at Rick. "Puffer fish."

"And spray-on skin. Don't forget that. Why would anyone need to use spray-on skin, unless maybe they'd cut themselves playing the bass?"

"Which lets Canfield out even more. He's far too experienced. And I don't recall seeing any fish tank in his apartment, did you?"

Rick sat down, pushing back on the chair until he was balanced on only two legs. "We didn't exactly search."

"No." Kate wished she could scratch it, the itch that had been growing between her shoulder blades for some time. It meant something was very wrong, and she couldn't help feeling like she was being manipulated somehow.

"You know it's what some people think makes zombies, don't you?" Rick said, leaning back even further. "All the appearances of being dead, but aware of everything."

"You don't think –"

"No." He let the chair legs come down with a crash. "Lanie knows better than that. And the girl was dead. I was just making conversation."

"Well, don't." She began tapping her pen on her notepad, and barely registered the phone ringing again.

"We need to speak to him again, don't we?" Rick asked, his face taking on an aspect she'd seen before. It was a blend of appealing to her suspicious nature, crossed with a desire to see the bad guy put away as much as she did.

"We still don't have proof."

"Then at least –"

"Boss." Ryan had his hand over the mouthpiece of the phone. "It's him."

Kate turned. "Who?"

"Canfield."

Her eyes widened, and she reached for the phone. "Speak of the devil."

Ryan shook his head. "No. He's here. Downstairs. Apparently he has something he needs to tell you. In person."