Too Soon Chapter 36 – Full Circle

And the sun won't shine, into your room
And the love you thought you felt
Was never true
Things seem so different now
In my life
And you know I felt the emptiness of time

It took me so long...
to find myself...Someone to talk to

You say the world is wide
And your thoughts are deep
And the wind will carry
Everything you keep
Things seem so simple now
In my life
Now I've found someone
Who makes it all seem right

And it took me so long...
to find myself...
Someone to talk to - The Devlins

June 25, Twelfth Precinct, 6 P.M.

Kate had eaten at work (Rick had called in a spinach and bbq-chicken pizza order and had it delivered to the Precinct at 6 pm sharp). What she didn't eat was devoured by her coworkers in short order, all of them exhausted and needing a break. The extra load of cold cases brought to light, on top of the usual load of bottom-feeding humanity, was taking its toll on all of them. Gates' being distracted by her wife's injury wasn't helping.

Jordan Shaw gave Kate a call around 7. "Hey, I'm going to interview Kelly Nieman tomorrow. You wanna come?"

"Do I!" Kate enthused. "You mean I can participate?"

"Sure! But do me a favor... don't tell Castle, 'kay? I don't wanna rub it in his face."

"Of course. I'll make sure he has other plans. What time?"

They settled on 2 p.m. Kate wondered if Rick's intestinal difficulties would have resolved themselves by then. She hoped he was feeling better. Poor boy. She texted him: "How are you?"

He responded "Blurgh. Might have flu. My hair hurts, 101 fever."

"Awww. Poor thing. Hope you'll be better tomorrow."

"Me too. Either that or shoot me."

Captain Gates came in at 8, after bringing her wife home from the hospital, and, taking one look at Beckett's team, sent them all packing. "And don't come in before 10 a.m. tomorrow. I mean it."

June 25, Three Crowns Hotel, 9:30 p.m.
When Kate arrived back at the hotel, she was already fighting sleep. She brushed her teeth, peeled out of her clothes, and crawled into bed next to her sleeping husband. His stomach was rumbling. He rolled over on his side, obviously uncomfortable, and she let him be, settling for a gentle kiss on his shoulder.

June 26, Three Crowns Hotel, 3 a.m.
He awoke a few hours later and got up to use the bathroom again. They'd both become accustomed enough to the suite that they barely needed the nightlight to find everything. When he came back to bed, Kate stirred, and murmured, "My turn."

She used the bathroom, came back to bed, and when she settled in, he turned to her, humming deep in his chest. She said, "Hey. How you feeling?"

"A lot better. For a while I thought I was gonna give birth to a weasel or something."

Kate giggled. "Stop that. I've already had dreams I our baby turned out to be a possum."

"Cute or scary?"

"Oh, kind of cute, but clingy."

"Ah. Just like his daddy, then."

Kate ran a finger along Rick's jaw. "You're not clingy. You're just..." she yawned. "Growing a beard."

He put his cheek against hers, his rather sparse beard having grown past the irritating stubbly stage to cuddly scruff. She kissed him, and they pulled in close, reveling in the skin-to-skin contact. Kate reached up to run her hands through his hair...

wait a minute.

She stopped, growing stiff in his arms.

He said, "What?"

She said, "I'm, uh, just going to turn on the light." There was a strange tension in her voice. She thumped around a little in the dark, and when the light was on, he was staring down the barrel of her gun, and her voice was hard.

"Who are you?" she snapped.

"Wha?"

She stared at him. "When did you last shave?"

"This afternoon. After I got back from Krimby and, you know, that thing with Nat and Nat."

He sat up in bed, feeling his jaw in perplexity, and she backed away, moving to turn on other lights in the room.

She was grilling him. "Our first case. What did I whisper in your ear? When you said we could have been good together."

"I have no idea. I mean, you said, 'You have no idea'."

"What was Alex's favorite toy as a toddler?"

"Monkey Bunkey."

"What was Meredith's nickname for you?"

"Kitten. And Gina's was Slowpoke, and you call me Tiger. Or lover. Or WriterBoy. And my nickname for you is Kate. Right?"

Kate frowned, squinting at him, puzzled. "Do you feel all right?"

"Yeah," he said. "I felt like I had the flu earlier. I ached all over. But I feel fine." His eyes wandered over Kate's naked form. "In fact, until you shoved your gun in my face, I was feeling great."

Kate said, "Get up. Get out of bed."

"Okay..." He was also naked and felt unnerved at the gun, moved carefully, but he could see that her anxiety had given way to curiosity. He stood, hands in the air. "You do know I'm me, right?"

She said, "Turn around."

"Okay. Kate, do you mind telling me what..."

"How's your ankle?"

"It's fine. Why..."

"How's your back?"

"I dunno, it's fine, Kate, why..."

"Go look. Go look in the mirror, and explain this to me."

The room's large wall mirror reflected the bed from certain angles. He stared at his reflection in shock, and stepped over to the mirror. He ran a finger over the two-weeks-worth of growth on his jaw, then ran his hands through his tangled thatch of hair. It settled into place obediently like a well-trained, and extremely well groomed, chocolate Labrador retriever, as it always had before the crash, before they shaved his head.

He had a good 3/8" of beard, and his scalp, which had sprouted only a few weeks' growth of buzz cut, had dramatically grown as well. The stitched cut on his temple was a pale pink line receding into cover of his luxuriant growth. The red scar from his hip injury had similarly faded; the puckered skin down his left arm had relaxed and smoothed out; the bite on his ear had healed substantially; the constant faint broken-nose ache in his sinuses had disappeared completely. The awful bruises on his lower back had faded to nearly nothing. Best of all, when he tested his weight on his knee and ankle, the pain was only about a 2 out of 10. He knew better than to test his busted wrist by removing the cast, but he had a feeling that would show marked improvement as well.

He glanced over at Kate. "What the hell was in that smoothie?" But he was grinning like an idiot. Kate set the safety and put her gun down.

She blinked a couple of times, and then her nose wrinkled, and then her chin shook, and she was trying so hard not to cry.

"Aww, Kate." He met her halfway across the room, and she sobbed into his chest.

"I- I- I m- m- missed your hair so much!" she wailed.

"Sssh, shhh. I promise if my hair falls out I'll get transplants." He grinned to himself, and then caught their reflection in the mirror. His arms were tightly around her, her beautiful, naked body pressed into his, her nose buried in the hollow of his neck. He suddenly realized she'd gained a tiny bit of weight, maybe only a pound or two, but enough to take the sharper edges off. He slid one hand down to cup her ass, bring her closer.

He said, "Hup!" like a lion tamer, and she let him heft her up, legs locked around his hips. Oh, she looked good that way, and he could bear her weight easily, painlessly. "Kate, I'm going to turn us. Look in the mirror."

"Wha- oh. Omigod."

"See? We look almost normal. We're gonna be fine."

She frowned anxiously. "I've gained weight on my butt."

"Yes. Enjoy it." Her center was so close, so warm and wet. He groaned, "Mmm. You get more beautiful every day."

"Really?"

He pushed forward a little with his hips, rocking her, and she writhed in response.

"Really." Then he laid her back on the bed and proved it to her.

•

June 26, 9 a.m.

Kate awoke with a smile and a nuzzle into the pillow. Rick was already in the shower, singing James Brown's "I Feel Good."

She stepped into the shower with him, just to make sure. Yes. He did. Sugar and spice.

•

June 26, 10 a.m.

After Beckett left for the Precinct, Castle tidied the little kitchen and sat at his laptop to write. Eventually his father came in from the adjoining suite and gave him a long, appraising look.

"How you feeling?"

Castle looked up from the laptop. "So what was in the smoothie?"

"Oh, whatever your mother found on the clearance rack at the health food store. Maybe it was the kombucha."

Castle just gave him a long, slow blink, eyes hooded and dark with suspicion. His voice was gruff. "Dad. How old are you?"

Jackson hesitated, then poured himself a cup of coffee.

"Let's just say I'm substantially older than your mother, and she was born in 1942." He took a sip, smiling appreciatively. "Your coffee's a hell of a lot better than mine."

"But it won't knock a couple years off my face. Or heal my injuries. Or make my hair grow a quarter inch overnight."

"No. That would involve dosing you with a substance purloined from a secret drug lab. Stuff so precious it doesn't even have a street value. And the folks who invented it are in the wind. Or dead."

"But you're not."

"I will be eventually. You got the last existing dose on your toothbrush yesterday morning."

Castle half-scowled. "Thank you. But you could have told me."

"Would you have taken it?"

"Maybe." He paused, alarmed. "Will it affect Kate? I kissed her..." He'd done more than kiss her. "What about the baby?"

Jackson shook his head. "The dose I gave you was infinitesimally small. Almost homeopathic level. Breaks down in seconds once it hits your system."

"What about side effects?"

"Hits the adrenals. Might have made you a little more emotional than normal."

"A little...? No kidding."

"Nothing you couldn't handle."

Castle sighed and pressed a hand to his eyes. "That's debatable. I got kicked out of the mental hospital."

The old man snickered. "That's quite an accomplishment. All for the best." Jackson held up a finger. "Hold that thought." He was back a moment later with his own laptop. "I've been thinking. Got some intel that might help our search."

He'd acquired it – somehow – from the FBI dossier on Michael McGowran, aka Jerry Tyson, aka Declan Connor, aka 43 other names. From rooms and cars and storage spaces he'd rented, to equipment he'd purchased, homes and vehicles he'd owned – even a plane still currently registered to one Derek Olson.

Rick chuckled bitterly. "Derek Olson was my protagonist in 'When it Comes to Slaughter'. Sonofabitch."

The old man's expression turned sad. "I wish I'd known about your brother from the beginning," he sighed. "He wasn't even on my radar until I heard he'd tied you up in that motel room."

"How'd..."

"Newspaper? Hello?" Jackson said, "Here's the thing. They can't find the plane. Its last flight plan had it landing at a rural landing strip in Maine. It was in storage."

"Well, let's go!"

"What? No. The FBI interviewed the locals, the strip's rarely used and there's no regular attendant. Plane took off in the middle of the night sometime around Memorial Day."

Rick sighed.

"...but. It's not a huge plane. Had to stop to refuel." Jackson winked. "I did a search for bogies around Iceland, and here we go..."

"Don't you mean Ireland?"

"Too far. A small plane like that would have to refuel. I don't think even Michael McGowran had an aircraft carrier at his disposal."

Rick looked at Jackson cautiously. "Should we alert Interpol?"

Jackson raised an eyebrow. "Only if you want to throw a monkey wrench into the works. They're thorough, but they're slow. We need to travel light."

Rick smiled his relief. "That saves me having to ask you. Thanks."

Jackson said, "You're my son. So was Michael. I owe it to you, and I owe it to your brother's victims."

"You could have walked away at any time."

Jackson's laugh was a short, bitter bark. "Ha! I've spent two lifetimes walking away. About time I went full circle."

•

June 26, 1 p.m.

Minsky let Agent Shaw and Detective Beckett in to the high-security area, and they traveled down the long hallway. He wore rubber-soled shoes, and walked almost silently despite his heavy tread. Beckett and Shaw wore heels, and together they sounded just a little like a glamorous Pony Express.

Kate smiled rather grimly. "My shoes go with my purse."

"Hm?"

"Oh, you know. Clarice Starling, walking down that long hallway to visit Hannibal Lecter. He taunts her. Cheap shoes, expensive purse."

Shaw nodded, grinning. "Get two men in a room, sooner or later they bring up Deliverance. Two women in law enforcement? Either shoes, or Silence of the Lambs."

"Castle brought it up the other day. Silence of the Lambs, not the shoes."

"How is he?"

Kate frowned. "Hard to say. Physically? Much better. The case," she shrugged. "Taking its toll."

Minsky glanced at the two women. "He's a decent guy. It's a shame he lost it with her, but it wasn't his fau-"

Dr. Patel came around the corner,. She gave Minsky a somewhat reproving look, waggling a finger at him. "Confidentiality, Mr. Minsky." She welcomed Beckett and Shaw, leading them to an observation room.

Kelly Nieman was back in a restraint jacket, but she had the freedom to walk around barefoot in a small padded room. She was nattering at the cameras in each corner, turning from one to another. "I know you're watching me. I know you think I'm out of control. You think I'm gonna give the last little girl up. Well, fuck that. Tiffany's dead meat by now. It's a shame they don't have Fourth of July barbeques in Ireland." She paced the little room, criss-crossing then circumnavigating the walls. "You'll be lucky even to find her body. Haha, luck of the Irish!" she chuckled, then her demeanor changed. Honestly, it reminded Beckett a little of herself in the interrogation room. Start out low key, and build the intensity. "I want Rick. We need to finish our book. I need to see him. I need to see Rick Castle! He needs me! He's nothing without me. I'm his muse, goddamn it!"

Shaw watched the outburst impassively, but Kate went a little pale. Dr. Patel looked at her closely as she pulled a pack of crackers out of her purse.

"When are you due, Detective Beckett?" At Kate's confusion, the doctor added, "Your husband told me. He's very excited."

Kate shrugged and accepted the snack with a half-hearted smile. "NO privacy," she thought. "February. Maybe Valentine's day."

Patel smiled and patted her hand. "I'll think good thoughts."

She turned to Shaw. "I got clearance for this interrogation. Dr. Nieman's been clean from narcotics for nearly a month. She had a low dose yesterday afternoon, and is already experiencing symptoms of early withdrawal. She may stay coherent long enough to give you the information you need. The addictive body chemistry kicked right in."

Shaw grimaced. "So predictable that way."

Nieman was screaming, "Patel! Answer me! I need to get out of here! I need to talk to Castle!"

Dr. Patel pressed the intercom button. "Someone is here for a visit now. If you agree to cooperate, you may see them."

"Is it Castle?"

"Not Mr. Castle. His wife, Detective Beckett."

Nieman chuckled. "Hah. She's not his wife. He can run circles around her."

Kate paled a little. She cocked an eyebrow at Shaw and Patel, who both nodded the go-ahead.

"Dr. Nieman, I have some questions I'd like to ask you about my husband. About some files I found on Castle's computer."

"Files? What files?"

"Little home movies he made."

There was a long silence. Nieman continued to pace, moving more and more quickly. Finally she cried "SHIT!" and slammed herself against a wall. She sank to her haunches, sobbing. "No, no, no, we're not done yet!"

"You don't feel too well right now, do you?" asked Shaw.

"Fuck off."

Dr. Patel said, "Agent Shaw and Detective Beckett would like your cooperation. Your game is over, Dr. Nieman. Now we're just tying up the loose ends. And when they have the information they want, I will give you something that will make you feel better."

Nieman hung her head, lank hair curtaining her face. Finally she shrugged and sighed. "All right, you simpering Packi bitch. Whatever."

Patel rolled her eyes at the other two women and muttered "Piece of work, this one!" She pressed the com button again. "The orderlies will bring you into the interrogation room. We expect you to behave in a civil manner. You are fully capable of it."

"Bleah, blah, blah," replied Nieman, and then after another long silence, "I'll talk."

For Beckett and Shaw, it was only a few steps to the interrogation room. Before she entered, Kate looked down at her rings and kissed them with a rueful smile. With a little effort, almost as if they were reluctant to be removed, she twisted them off and tucked them into her front pocket. Her fingers had swollen slightly, and the rings had left a slight pink dent, but it would settle out in a few minutes. She took a seat at the interrogation table next to Shaw. Patel was on the other side of the mirror, and the orderlies led Nieman in, seated her, and secured her restraints. She wasn't going anywhere.

She looked awful. She'd gained and lost weight several times in five weeks, her hair color had faded and her inch-long roots were more salt than pepper. Her skin was pasty and dry, her eyes red and hollow, her nose blotchy with spider veins, her forehead still bruised from slamming it the other day.

Nieman stared at herself in the mirror and let out a low, wordless moan. "Auuueeew, what the fuck. Get that thing out of here."

Shaw said, "So sorry. It's built into the wall."

"Turn my chair."

"Nuh-uh. Can't be done. Now, I'd like to remind you this session is not like those with Mr. Castle. You are being recorded. For the record."

"Why the change?"

"Because you may be accessory to a few new murders, and whether you're sane or not, we need whatever information you can give." She glanced over at Kate, who had a hand over her eyes a moment and said apologetically, "Sorry, Detective Beckett. I know this is hard for you."

Kate nodded, clearly agitated and trying to collect herself. Shaw took out a file and laid out an array of stills from the false 'snuff' movies Castle had shown Nieman on his little camera. There were photos of Rick staring into the lens, of Kayla Twimbly shrinking back in fear then dead on the bed. There were photos of the dance school dungeon, of Elise Mowry and her three captors, of Castle knocking the girl back, killing the others, then killing her.

Nieman said, "Huh." She leered at Kate. "Looks like your man's been busy."

Kate glared the full force of her rage at the madwoman. It was oddly satisfying; Nieman's gaze shrank away. Beckett said, "Want a cigarette?"

"Yeah."

"Well, you can't have one." She glanced up at Shaw.

Agent Shaw identified everyone in the photos and said, "I don't suppose you know how Castle found the girls, or how these murders got onto Mr. Castle's hard drive."

"How should I know?"

Kate said, "You've never seen these before?"

"Of course not."

"It's obvious he made them for you," Shaw said. "You must be very proud."

Nieman's face contorted in confusion. She was proud of him, proud of herself for bringing out his true nature. She was so relieved not to be alone, to have someone who understood, someone so smart. But she was also disappointed, because he'd been stupid. He'd been caught. Or had he?

She tried not to let her voice shake. "Have you arrested him?"

"We can't find him," Beckett snapped. "From his notes, it looks like he's gone off looking for Tiffany Ross." She placed her palms on the table and rose to her full height, towering over Nieman. "We need to find them. Where is she?"

Nieman smirked down at Kate's hands.

"I see you took your rings off." She looked up at Kate. "So much for 'always'." But she'd started to sweat and shake, just a little. The drugs were fading out of her system.

Kate slammed forward, her face an inch from Nieman's. "You did this to him, you raving bitch." The woman smelled like death. Beckett had to force herself not to back away.

Nieman smirked. "Don't think all your love can save him, Darlin'. He's already gone." She glanced down at the photos. "You've seen it yourself. It's fun watchin' him onscreen, in't it? He's a natural."

Shaw arose and patted Kate on the shoulder before she could throttle Nieman. "We're really not interested in saving Mr. Castle at this point... or at least, I'm not." She glanced sidelong at Beckett. "However, we understand that the last murder was supposed to be committed on July 4, assuming that everything had gone to plan. And that it's possible Miss Ross is being held in Ireland."

Nieman's tongue darted out and passed along dry lips. "We've been all over Ireland. She could be anywhere."

"We?"

"Michael and me. His friends."

"Which friends?"

A hint of frustration swept across her face. Her glance darted away. "He was my partner," she mumbled.

"We know Michael was your partner. So, where's Tiffany Ross?"

"It was our deal. We used to do everything together." Her mouth twitched, and she shuddered inside her straight jacket. "Bastard."

"What are you saying?"

"The night we took Tiffy, we had a fight. Michael had a hell of a temper, you know."

Kate's heart sank. She pulled out a water bottle and drank most of it down. Nieman stared at the water bottle, obviously thirsty.

Shaw said, "You want some water, Dr. Nieman?"

"Yeah. Don't tell me, I get it after my cigarette?" She shivered a little. There was no ashtray in this room. No cigarettes. No Rick Castle.

Shaw turned to the mirror. "Can we get some water, please? And a straw?"

A moment later, Minsky came in, bearing a covered water cup, the kind they have in hospitals.

Shaw took the cup. "Thanks. God, who picks these colors out? And why?"

"Yeah," Nieman agreed. "Baby-shit gold. Baboon-arse pink. Cyanotic blue. Army green."

"You have a certain aesthetic," Shaw said. "You're particular." She leaned across with the water, and Nieman drank thirstily. "An artist."

"Yeah, I'm an artist!" Nieman said proudly. She looked closely at Kate. "I could have done marvelous things for you. But Michael..." she stopped.

"Michael what? Did he not agree?"

"We went back and forth about it. One day he wants to kill all of you in yer sleep. The next he wants to adopt you all and live in his little bunker up in the Catskills. One happy family. Then he wants to kill everyone and make Ricky watch. Then, no, Ricky has to kill everyone. Proof of brotherly love. There's nothin' like a control freak who can't make up his feckin' mind."

"And what did that have to do with Tiffany?"

"Well, ya know, Michael wanted to do his favorite routine, stranglin' the blonde and layin' her out. He gets a bit tetchy if he goes too long, and you know, he had Marcus Gates do the last batch, so it was past his time and he was missin' his Mam, poor lad."

Shaw said quizzically, "His Ma'am?"

"His mother. When it got too much, he'd get the special rope out. Three blondes. He never did explain why three, though. What, Castle didn't tell you?"

Kate nodded. "He told me." She was feeling pretty sick.

"I used to hate it when Michael would say, 'Hey, I been thinkin'. Because he'd come up with some other complicated thing. It should be simple, you know? 'Michael. Does it have to be three, and do they have to be blondes?' 'Yes!' 'Why?' 'Because that's the way it is!'"

Kate stared at her, dazed. Every time Rick said, "I've been thinking..." it always led to something wonderful. They were so alike, yet so different.

Nieman continued. "But it had its good side. I got to make myself look a bit like Meredith, and she's quite the little hottie. But then she left us, so that was no good."

"Left us?"

"Well, we are family, after all. We both loved watching Alexis, but Michael thought Meredith was a lyin' bitch. He came thiiis close to takin' photos and sendin' them to Rick. Then our lad caught the little whore with her director, and they divorced, so that was a moot point."

"What about Gina?"

"Oh, come on. Anyone could see that wouldn't last!" Nieman chuckled. "Anyone except Rick. But she got what she wanted out of it. Lucky for her that Michael checked himself into jail while they were married. He had trouble with blondes."

Shaw said, "If by 'trouble' you mean 'trouble keeping himself from killing them.'"

Nieman nodded. "Yeah." She shivered again.

"If Michael was so obsessed with Rick, why didn't he make a move sooner?"

"I think mostly because he was happy enough traveling in separate circles, even before he went underground. Maybe he was waiting for the right time. As I said, indecisive right up till the moment he knows exactly what he wants. I ran the business end while he was in jail. But when Castle killed off Storm and started writing Nikki Heat..."

She shot a calculating look at Beckett. Beckett said, "It threw the balance off. Rick was getting too deep in with the Twelfth. Michael read the Nikki book and knew that he wanted his next murder in the Twelfth Precinct – wanted to see if Rick would rise to the bait."

"Clever girl you are! Clever Rick, too. Seein' through Marcus Gates."

"Close call," said Shaw.

"After Rick sussed Michael out, I started to get the feelin' Michael's days were numbered. He was getting too attached. Too sloppy – even fuckin' with Rick's computer and, you know, the bugs and cams in the loft. Only a matter of time before someone found them. Did you know he got pneumonia when he fell into the River?"

Now it was Kate's turn to shiver – she knew those cold, filthy waters too well. "You fished him out?"

"I did. Hauled him out on the jetty, ruined my favorite Jimmy Choos."

"Tragic," Shaw grimaced.

"Tulip Glitter Suede Platform Pumps."

Kate paused a moment. "Oh, man. I almost bought a pair of those."

"Yeah, sucks, right? Anyway, we fought like hell over every damn murder since. He was torn in two, poor thing. Didn't know if he wanted a family or a nice fresh pile of victims."

"And Tiffany Ross?"

"He wanted to take Tiff to Ireland and have Rick kill her there. Where it began. For bonding, or an apology maybe. Michael could be a bit of a nut."

Shaw chuckled at that understatement, but Kate stayed serious. "And you didn't like that plan?"

"Hell no! I like warm weather. I wanted to do it in Miami, but noooo. Michael loved that symbolic stuff. He wanted to go full circle. To show their mother – their real mother – who was the better son. Smarter. He wanted to take Ricky's place. But..."

"But what?" said Kate.

"You! Is what." She looked at the straw, and Shaw held it out to her. "We used to watch you. The Rick and Kate show." She snickered. "You had some pretty hot times. So did we, at first. But I could see I was bein' edged out of the picture. Michael wanted everything Rick had. I started thinkin', maybe if I could get my hands on your face, you wouldn't be so pretty any more. And also it occurred, maybe the best man might win, and it might not be Michael."

"Did you kill Michael?"

"I helped a little. Ricky did that, but I shot the petrol tank. Michael should've killed him when he had the chance."

Shaw said, "When exactly was that?"

Nieman laughed, then seemed to be taken with some kind of spasm, and continued speaking with effort. "When wasn't it? Rick Castle stands out like a sore thumb. But Michael, he... ugh. Fuck." She closed her eyes, gritting her teeth. "Bloody hell, that hurts." She glared up at the mirror. "I need more medication," she snarled.

Dr. Patel's voice said, "That is contingent on your cooperation."

Nieman laughed again, but it was a little hysterical. She wagged her head from side to side, her shaggy hair flopping, singsonging "oh God oh God oh God, you know how to stick my wee feet to the fire, you bitch." She spasmed again. A few moments later, Minsky returned with a kidney-shaped basin, the kind you hurl into. It was cyanotic blue.

Nieman retched a little. Kate's knuckles were white on the edge of the table. "Where is Tiffany Ross? Who's holding her?"

"Michael had a tantrum and flew off with her. We didn't even speak for three feckin' days. I almost thought he wasn't coming back for the wedding." Her voice grew thick as her mouth flooded with saliva. "I need the drugs, Patel!" she roared.

"I seem to be having some trouble getting the dose calculated," said Patel's calm voice. "All in good time."

"GIVE IT!" Kelly hunched over, retching again. It sounded like she was going to cough up a ball of wet twine.

Kate blenched. Shaw glanced over at Kate. "I've got it from here," she said. Kate flew to the door and Minsky let her out. She leaned on the wall, breathing hard, trying not to get sick. Minsky had a basin for her, too. This one was a nice, shiny stainless steel. Kate took it with gratitude, but as her breathing calmed and the slightly fresher air cleared her head, the nausea subsided.

Minsky said, "You Castles got sensitive tummies."

Kate grinned ruefully. "Usually we're both cast iron."

He shrugged. "It's just bein' human."

Back in the interrogation room, Jordan was a still-point of calm, rising out of her chair and backing away from the table a few steps. Nieman rocked back and forth. The sick woman leaned her forehead on the table, which was something of a feat considering the straight jacket. Then she vomited, pretty much everywhere but the basin. Nieman called out miserably, "Minsky! Get your fat arse in here, I've messed meself!"

Dr. Patel had joined Minsky and Beckett in the hallway. She had rolled out a little metal cart with various implements and a syringe, and clean linens on the lower shelf. "I've called for a gurney. She probably won't be mobile much longer."

Nieman sat back, her face and clothing wet, eyes tearing, sinuses flooded. Shaw kept her distance. "Don't feel too bad. Couple years ago both kids and my husband had the flu at the same time. Doesn't phase me."

"Fuck you and your feckin' family, too."

Shaw smiled, and something about her smile told Nieman that she had no hope of control in this situation. Another spasm wracked her, and next time it wouldn't be coming out of her mouth.

Shaw said, "So Michael flew off with Tiffany, and boy were his wings tired."

"Yeah. In the B20. Probably gonna switch to a bigger plane in Iceland."

"Were they alone?"

"Ugh. Stop."

"Were they on their own, or was someone with him?"

"The big fella. I lured her in, Michael took her down, the big fella helped him get her into the van. They had a shipping crate, all padded inside.

"The Big Fella? Ever get a name?"

"Murray. No. Murphy."

"What's he look like?"

She chuckled miserably. "Like a side of bacon. Red hair, rosacea on his cheeks, lots of sun damage and enlarged pores. Bit o' Colm Meaney to him, only jowlier."

"Where were they taking her?"

"Oh, God, I need... agh! I don't know! I don't know what he did with her. I don't know who she's with. I DON'T KNOW!" She was squirming in pain, her knees up tightly under the bottom of the table.

"Well, then," Shaw picked up a pen and paper. "Who does?"

"Richard Castle," she shuddered. "He'll figure it out. Rick figures everything out, given time."

Shaw's eyes narrowed. "And if Castle finds her before we do?"

Amidst a contortion of pain, a triumphant grin flashed across Nieman's face and was gone. "Then he kills her, and he's mine. I win."

Shaw nodded concession. "And if Murphy kills her first?"

"Well, then, Rick's still out of your jurisdiction on the Auld Sod. He's got the means. And now he's got the method, and the motive. You'll never catch him. He's my legacy – our legacy, mine and Michael's. And it's a sight better than any stupid book. Again, I win. I've already won."

Shaw smiled grimly. "Well. You've been somewhat helpful in spite of yourself." She rose and knocked. "Dr. Patel, we're through here for now."