OCME, Kips Bay
Thursday, 4:15 PM

Dufrane was in the wind, figuratively and perhaps still literally for all they knew.

After initially putting up a stolid resistance to the probing from Esposito and Ryan, the legal rep from AngelAir had soon sheepishly confirmed the theft of an Embraer Phenom 100 private jet. LaGuardia confirmed its unsanctioned takeoff at 3:08 that morning, thankfully in a gap of air traffic. The pilot had at least shown the sense to stay low while crossing out of the airspace. The Phenom had a range of around thirteen hundred miles. Assuming Dufrane knew a friendly airport where he could land and refuel, he could be just about anywhere on the continent. His information had been sent to the local FBI office to be distributed far and wide.

AngelAir confirmed receiving a call at 5:15 Wednesday evening, an hour and a half earlier than the pilot had claimed during his interview. A little bit of digging identified the number as belonging to a pay-as-you-go phone. Dead end. The caller, male, requested pick-up for a female passenger in critical condition at St. Francis hospital. Cell phone records also showed the pilot had received a call on his private cell from the same burner phone only ten minutes later, while his bird was still being prepped for takeoff on the tarmac. It lasted four minutes. When the call ended, Dufrane had taken off, dipped below radar over the East River, flipped off his transponder, and vanished.

The next contact anyone had was when he showed up around quarter of eight at Beth Israel. He had promptly taken his bird back to LaGuardia about an hour later after his interview with Beckett and was immediately suspended by AngelAir pending further inquiry. According to his supervisor, Dufrane was calm and collected at the time. He made no apologies and offered no explanation regarding the blatant deviation of his flight plan, even on the threat of termination.

AngleAir's bill was paid via international wire transfer from an offshore account. The white-collar boys and girls in Forensic Accounting had it now. It was probably sitting on someone's desk at the bottom of a stack of similar requests that stood twenty folders tall.

Castle's work on the background check painted a somewhat dichotomous picture of their suspect.

Dufrane was ex-military, an Air Force Academy graduate from the class of '95. He had earned high marks across the board and his service history was solid. In fact, it had been exceptional, including the awarding of both the Air and Aerial Achievement medals. His service concluded in early 2007 with an honorable discharge. From there he began working for civilian corporations and a couple reputable private military companies who were subcontracted by NATO. The former airman had no criminal record, not even a parking ticket. His finances indicated a frugal bachelor who lived well within his means. Kate found no evidence of gambling. No drugs, no drinking problem. Dufrane had been seeing a shrink every three weeks like clockwork since leaving the military but took no medical prescriptions. The purchase history she had access to indicated a possible girlfriend as recent as six months ago. Restaurant bills, women's lingerie, a weekend getaway to the Bahamas. A large payment to Highmark Jewelers implied an engagement ring, which was returned to the store the following week. Since then, there were only standard purchases.

Esposito put it best during their mobile conference call that afternoon when he muttered, "Fuckin'-A. Part of me wants to wish the sonofabitch well on his travels."

"Mm. I was not expecting what I found," Castle rumbled by way of agreement.

"What're the odds," Ryan chimed in afterward, "that this guy knew exactly what he was doing while he was interacting with you two at the hospital last night? He's no dummy, right? If I wanted to disappear in a nearly empty room, that's how I'd do it—by adopting a persona you couldn't wait to get away from."

Huh. That's not half bad.

"Straight from the mouth of the OG UCO," Javier muttered.

"His indignation when I questioned him about the girl did seem genuine now that I think about it," Richard said, looking at Kate from the passenger seat. "What did he say? Something about throwing the girl's killer into his helicopter's rotor blades? I feel like that rang truer than anything else he said that night."

"Hardly the commentary of an upstanding citizen," Beckett replied dryly, "but I take your point. Yours too, Ryan. I also noticed, uh, one or two little things."

She was picturing the way the pilot had swapped from flirting with her to goading Castle. At the time, Kate had assumed it was petulance, a poor loser showing his true stripes, but both options had played on the same theme. It wouldn't be the first time someone had assessed her and Castle's partnership as being more than professional in nature. It was the first case of it being leveraged against them with at least some degree of success. Extenuating circumstances notwithstanding, that was the kind of scenario the NYPD had in mind when it came to the rules forbidding romantic entanglements. Gotta be careful, Katie.

"If we're really onto something here," Ryan mused aloud, "we might wanna narrow our search grid. Dufrane chose the jet over a helicopter when both were viable options. Maybe the longer range of that Phenom is another bait-and-switch."

"He could still be somewhere in our backyard," Esposito agreed.

Castle looked wordlessly aside at her. The active Bluetooth connection to the car's speakers through her cell went expectantly quiet too. It was no casual choice. With limited time and resources, the leads they elected to follow were no small investment. Any choice too far in the wrong direction could prove disastrous.

"Run it down," Beckett said. "Good work, Ryan."

"It's just a theory for now, but thanks. See you two later?"

"Probably not until tomorrow," she replied. "I have an appointment I can't break this evening. By the time we finish up with Lanie and get back across town, I'll already be pushing it. Let's meet up at The House again in the morning."

"Right on," Esposito replied. "Later you two."

"Later," the pair in the car said in unison.

The call disconnected and silence ruled in its wake, as much as it ever did in the Big Apple anyway, and in particular where she was currently parked outside the OCME. It was one of those neighborhoods that kept moving no matter the hour. The Bellevue area hosted a few hospitals, including the titular one, as well as a plethora of medical offices and schools. East 26th was strung with a long line of emergency vehicles as well as several private automobiles belonging to staff members.

Inside, they passed through security and plucked up their visitor badges with the ease of frequent guests and were soon directed to Pathology Lab C.

"Lab C," Castle observed as they passed through familiar stretches of utilitarian corridors. "That answers the question about whether some kind of biological agent is involved." The tertiary studio was maintained as a low-risk environment. While it could be hermetically sealed and secured for more hazardous operations, that kind of duty was typically reserved for its sibling suites.

"Cancel that zombie apocalypse too. Bummer."

Her partner didn't rise to the bait.

The admonishment she'd given him that morning to stay focused had remained in place all day long. No wayward quips, deft twists of innuendo, or suggestive commentary. His lips didn't betray so much as a quiver from her most recent playful add-on. To his credit, neither anger nor resentment were present in his demeanor either. He wasn't sulking. Still, their dynamic was definitely a little off. It felt like she was working with a cop, not a writer-turned-crime-solver.

You can't push him hard one way and expect to have it the other too, Katie.

Logically, that was all very fair and sound. Illogically, she was accustomed to her partner defying conventional wisdom and finding ways to do both, or in lieu of that option, flat-out disregarding her orders and doing what he damn well pleased with a wink and a smile and his infuriating wealth of charisma.

They passed together through the double-doors of Lab C. Stringent odors of cleansing agents assailed the detective's senses along with the faint scents of blood and organic waste. Lanie Parish was presiding within, queen of her particular castle with a set of blue scrubs and white sneakers taking the place of more regal attire. She had her back to them at the time, focused upon a laptop which sat open on a stainless steel countertop.

The young woman from Beth Israel was also present. Her slender figure shone pale in the abundant spill of cold light over the autopsy table. She almost looked aglow.

The M.E. glanced up and turned as they entered. The dark-skinned woman's lips were set into a line as she assessed them and immediately gestured to the teen with one blue-gloved hand. "What the heck kinda case did you two bring me this time?"

Kate and Rick paused with an exchanged look.

"Not it," he rumbled discreetly from the corner of his mouth.

"What're you talking about?" the former asked as they continued to approach.

Lanie turned to walk around the far side of the operating table, taking a moment to pull a sheet across the victim. "It's a mess," she declared with a crinkling of her nose.

Castle paused at his partner's right on the nearer side of the table. He eyed the corpse with an uneasy roll of his broad shoulders. "How so?"

"Just everything," Lanie grunted. She stepped apart from them and switched on a multi-paneled light board that stretched the length of cabinets affixed to the east wall. "Let's start with the stabbing," she said while backing away to give them a clear view. "We have different blade widths, varying depths, multiple angles. Lordy," she spouted with a flip of her arms at either side. "Where'd you pull her out of—the den of a murderous cult?"

"Wait," Beckett interjected. "Multiple attackers?"

"Three, maybe four. Maybe more for crying out loud, but at least three people were directly involved in her death." She turned to face them again. "Where'd you find her?"

"She was airlifted to Beth Israel by a third party," Beckett explained. "We haven't located a crime scene yet."

"Huh. Well, don't bother searching locally. She was riddled with organic particulates. Pollen, dirt, bits of leaves and bark; I guess technically she could have been in one of our parks, but if that were the case—"

"We'd have the location by now," Kate agreed with a bemused frown at their victim. No way someone could be stabbed by multiple assailants and have both the deed and the blood-soaked scene go undetected for twenty-four hours in a city of eight million plus. The odds of that had to be astronomical.

"Where are you thinking it happened?" Castle asked.

Lanie shrugged. "I can't say for sure, but this feels rural to me. I sent a batch of samples to Forensics around lunchtime. We have the tools I need here, but they have a much broader database for comparisons. I also found diatoms. Not just in trace amounts, mind you, and they were still viable. She was somewhere around the water shortly before she was picked up. That was lucky. It should help narrow things down."

"Somehow I doubt another saltwater fish tank is going to conveniently tie this case up with a bow," Castle said gravely.

Lanie arched an eyebrow, likely keying in on his uncharacteristic seriousness.

"So, about this supposed murder cult," Beckett prompted.

"So," Lanie obliged as she returned to the table and stood before their victim, "like I said: multiple attackers. It was sloppy work, which is also part of what makes me think this happened somewhere more isolated. It would've been…loud. Uh, you can see how the defensive wounds run rampant across her palms and up her arms. Whoever did the cutting was reluctant to get in close and get to work."

"People who knew her?" Beckett surmised with a glance at her partner. He was focused on the M.E.

"Could be," Lanie said. "Some of the wounds are shallow enough that I'm tentatively labeling them as hesitation cuts. The depths of some of the actual stabbings are also congruent with that hypothesis."

"Fourteen stab wounds and you're inferring hesitance?" Castle asked.

"I'm 'inferring' based on the evidence," Lanie returned with a narrowing of her dark eyes. The author leaned away with his lips zipped and both palms raised in surrender. "Stabbing depths vary by attacker, and they in turn can be differentiated by the blades they used, force administered, and the angle of attack. We're looking at different heights and at least one suspect who was left-handed."

She turned to direct their attention to the series of X-rays on the lightboard. "See the gouges and hairline fractures?" Then turned back to the body and gestured to several of the slim entrance wounds. "Here, here, here, and here. All of these were deep thrusts performed hard enough for the hilt of the knife to affect the integrity of the ribcage."

"Implying anger?" Beckett asked.

"Implying passion," Castle rumbled. "Which could suggest a myriad of emotional states amplified to their extremes. Anger is certainly an outstanding candidate."

"Thing is," Lanie resumed with a slightly furrowed brow, "only two or three of these wound sites are critical areas. Not that there's a good place to get stabbed," she clarified soberly, "but no one specifically targeted the heart, liver, or the kidneys. There's some ancillary damage to all of those organs, don't get me wrong, it's just not very direct. Now, that could be intentional," she hedged dubiously. "If you combine that with the aforementioned reluctance I inferred, it could add up to a very deliberate and ugly attack that was designed to make the poor kid suffer longer than was necessary. I don't think that's what happened."

"She would've been putting up one helluva fight while this was happening, don't you think?" Beckett asked rhetorically. "I agree. This is amateur work."

"Yeah," Lanie said. "Even the strike that probably killed her—here," she directed, drawing their attention to a central, somewhat narrower wound, "doesn't look like it was done intentionally, per se. First of all, whoever did the stabbing was holding their blade the wrong way. It struck the ribs and rebounded. I think they tried again, harder, and that's when the tip of the blade snapped off. It managed to pierce the thoracic wall and penetrate the alveolar-capillary membrane."

"Um," Beckett said. She looked at Castle, who smirked and shrugged.

"They nicked the lungs," Lanie simplified for both. "You can actually see where the cut stopped and the tearing began. It's a more ragged division. That tearing of, uh, lung tissue, let's say, probably occurred while she was being jostled during the transition to either the medivac helicopter or the emergency room at Beth Israel. That's no fault on the part of HEMS or the hospital staff really; it was pretty much unavoidable. COD isn't exsanguination, though that would've been the case soon enough. She drowned in her own blood before that could happen."

"I don't understand this scenario," Kate admitted.

"I understand that your best boo implied we were dummies. Lung tissue indeed."

Beckett snorted softly and lightly batted her partner's bicep. Welcome back, partner.

"Oh, you wanna talk about not understanding?" Lanie challenged with her eyebrows lifted high. "We haven't even gotten to the crazy part."

"Oh, jeez," Kate blurted. "What else is there?"

"I've recovered and identified four different DNA types from foreign blood samples I recovered from inside her wound cavities."

"What?" Castle rasped bewilderedly.

"What?" Kate demanded with a glance from one to the other. "What's that mean?"

"It means…" but Castle shook his head, at a loss to conclude.

"It means," Lanie took over, "that the same people who stabbed her were also actively engaged at killing one another."

"What the fuck?" Beckett spouted with exasperation. "Are you sure?"

"I'm sure. These injuries were all inflicted around the same time, which means all of her attackers had to have been more or less functional. I can't say when they banded together and turned on our vic here, but at some point shortly before or maybe even during that assault, they were attacking one another too."

"What kind of madness is this?" Beckett said. "Have you performed a tox-screen yet?"

"Oh yes, and I'm very curious to see what it yields. I didn't find any evidence of poison or biological agents with her," the M.E. said while studying the young woman on her table, "but I'm certainly not dismissing the possibility."

"When will those results come in?" Castle asked.

"A couple days."

Beckett nodded absently while frowning at their vic. "Did you say yet how many different blades were used? Four?"

"Three blades. Four DNA types."

"One reluctant member of the party?" Castle asked while looking at Kate.

"I have a suspicion as to who," Lanie said grimly. "One of them is a familial match to our girl here. A half brother, I think."

"Oh jeez," Beckett murmured. "Can you tell whether or not he was one of the people who attacked her?"

"No. All I can tell you is that he was definitely attacked like she was, but, at this point, it looks like they were all victims in that respect."

"At the hospital earlier, one of the doctor's said she was covered in blood." Lanie nodded in confirmation. "They said it was from two types: our vic and one other."

"No. They only found two types because they weren't looking for things like that. It was dumb luck that they stumbled across a foreign sample while they were trying to type their patient's blood. She had all four variants of DNA on her body, inside some of her wounds, and on her clothes."

Beckett nodded again with a slight frown ticking at her lips.

"What?" Lanie asked.

Castle shifted his weight from one hip to the other. "I believe she was hoping that at least one of the four was on our victim's side—that she didn't die alone."

The detective snapped her focus at him with a tsk of disapproval. Call me right out why don'cha.

"I hope not," Lanie agreed. "It certainly looks like at least one person didn't join in."

"Maybe that was him," Kate mused, "and he died trying to defend his sister."

"Or perhaps our victim was the one who killed him," Castle rumbled sadly.

Beckett bristled and shot a narrowed look over at Lanie. "Is there any evidence that our victim took part in the attacks?"

"Not presently," Lanie answered with a slight grimace, "but I can't definitively rule out that possibility. Sorry, honey. Some of the wounds on her hands are inconclusive; they could be from trying to stop a blade that was coming at her, or they could be cuts sustained from a knife that slipped through her grasp while she was attacking someone else. That's a common enough injury in stabbing cases and the blades all appear to be common kitchen variants. When I mentioned a hilt previously, I was referring to the blunted edge of a handle, not an actual cross-guard like you'd see on a hunting or military knife."

"Ugh. Fuck this case," Beckett muttered as she rubbed her fingers into the corners of her eyes.

"If I had those blades I could make a more conclusive assessment. You need to find the crime scene," the M.E stated. "Maybe someone's still alive to tell the tale."

Castle perked up at that but said warily, "The doctor at the hospital suggested that the volume of blood on the victim's hair and clothes—"

"What? Too many liters lost for there to be a survivor?" She took in Castle's nod with a shrug. "At that time, with the information they had available, it was a reasonable assumption to make. We know there were at least five people involved, including our victim. I don't have any evidence precluding someone else—or everyone else for that matter—from having survived whatever bloody chaos they got up to."

"They'd already be, what," Beckett checked her watch, "twenty-three hours without medical attention, give or take an hour."

Lanie didn't react one way or the other except to say, "Find them fast."

The phone on her desk rang and she stepped away from the huddle.

Beckett looked at Castle, watching him staring at the girl on the table. His posture was still tense as if he expected it to lunge up from the table. She eased a few paces closer and murmured quietly for the sake of Lanie's phone call, "What do you think?"

The novelist shook his head without looking away from the vic. "I don't know."

"I would've expected the mere mention of a murderous cult to whet your—"

"It doesn't," he interrupted, the words sharp and level, almost like a blade themselves. He gave her a look she couldn't interpret. "I'm concerned. Whoever did this or whatever their motives were, I assume they succeeded at something. Look in the mirror and tell me I'm wrong."

Beckett huffed and shook her head. "There's no such thing as magic."

"Historically, magic is a label we've applied to things we don't yet understand. I certainly consider whatever is happening to you beyond my understanding."

He had resisted each attempt she had made to inject some levity. That was what made her stomach clench with fresh apprehension. Kate knew he thought they were in trouble when Castle of all people couldn't lend the comfort of a distraction by way of impish humor, but she also knew that his estimation of their circumstances went off the deep end in comparison to her own.

Maybe it's time we waded into the deep end. I'm hearing people's thoughts.

No. Damn it. She wasn't. Not…not exactly. It was an abnormally broadened intuition, she could allow that. It wasn't magic or otherwise supernatural.

"Oh, great," she heard Lanie say into the silence. "I have Kate and Rick with me now. Can I put you on speaker?" After receiving what must have been an affirmative, the medical examiner laid the phone down and waved them over. "We're on the line with Joseph Hawkins," she told the pair. "He's pretty much CSU's front man."

From the phone, a tinny man's voice said dryly, "Minus the rockstar aspect, I assure you."

Castle asked, "What did you find?"

Beckett was aware of Lanie giving her a look and glanced aside at her with a faint shrug of one shoulder. Welcome to my day. It's been strictly business.

"Plenty," Hawkins replied, sounding pleased to skip any pleasantries. "I'm about to email you guys a list of the particulate breakdown and their origins. Most of it, you'll note, belongs to flora common to our region if not our city. Pine, oak, red maple, evergreen wood fern. Uh, there was a leaf from the Black-eyed Susan and a few petals from the New York Aster."

"What about the diatoms?" Beckett asked.

"That's a little trickier. They're not from our local sisters. Low levels of toxicity immediately rules out the East River. The Hudson gets a little cleaner the further north you go, but it's freshwater. Long Island Sound would be a safe bet, but my instincts are leaning a bit further east towards Block Island Sound."

"Why's that?"

"Well, it's nothing terribly conclusive on its own, but some of these samples look more like their cousins from warmer waters in the south. It's not unusual for diatoms to migrate and the Gulf Stream is about as good as you can get in terms of a strong, swift means of conveyance. The silicates change subtly as algae flows into colder waters. That's what I'm seeing with your samples. Adaptation, of a sort. You'd be more likely to find specimens like these on coastal fringes rather than tucked away in a cozy gulf. Combine the diatoms to the terrestrial flora and I'd be looking across the southern fork of Long Island. Turn your gaze east, detective."

Beckett stewed on the delivery for a moment. "Okay. Thanks, Hawkins."

"Oh," the CSU tech said. "Actually, there was one other thing, sorry. This just came in. It should help. Populus tremuloides," he read aloud. "More commonly known by several other names. Golden aspen and white poplar are two of the most common. That's what we got back on a piece of bark taken from your vic's clothing."

"Aspens," Beckett said with a frown. "In this area?"

"New York has some, sure. They're mostly upstate around the mountains, but you'll find a few examples on Long Island too."

"Them being uncommon is a good thing," Lanie said.

"A very good thing," Hawkins echoed. "That's all I have for now. Grab that email before you leave, Beckett. None of those plants are unusual by themselves but taken together they'll narrow things down. Get this into the hands of forestry service personnel, park rangers, and environmentalists. You'll find your crime scene in no time."

"Great. Thanks again."

"Thanks, Joseph," Lanie added.

"You're welcome. Take care."

The M.E. hung up with a look at Beckett. "Keep me apprised on this one. If you find the scene, bodies or no, I'd prefer to tag along and see it with my own eyes. I'll handle the jurisdictional BS when and if it's necessary. In fact, I'll make some calls tonight to the coroners I'm familiar with and put out some feelers."

"I guess I'll be doing the same with Long Island's police and Sheriff offices."

"And what're you gonna do, writer-man?"

Castle, his features hard and tilted downward in contemplation, looked up with a furrow in his brow. "Hmm? Pardon me, Lanie. What'd you say?"

The medical examiner smirked. "I asked what you'd be doing while us girls are working hard. PlayStation or Xbox?"

"Yes."

Lanie shook with mute humor. "You got the cream of the crop, honey."

"Don't I know it," Beckett replied dryly, but smirked back at the author too. He didn't notice, though, or elected not to.

"Ah, apologies for the abruptness, ladies, but I'm going to head out," he said. "Thank you, Lanie. Until tomorrow, detective."

"You don't need a ride?"

"No, thank you. I can manage." He backed off a pace.

The investigator spoke again before he turned fully away. "Uh. I-I was going to grab something to eat on the way back downtown. I could take you back and we could refuel on the way. Maybe summarize what we know so far?"

"No," he replied without stopping. Once again, a swift and sharp cut, but not angry. "Tomorrow."

Kate watched him go with a light sigh and a quiet chill of disappointment from the rejection. She looked back at Lanie with a faint smile and shrugged. "Tomorrow."

"What the hell did I witness? Did you just get turned down—by Castle?"

Kate blanched and muttered, "Thanks for the replay."

Lanie's surprise dispersed around sudden awareness. She giggled with embarrassment. "Sorry. What was that all about?"

"He's been a little off like that all day. I think he's trying to find a good balance between his usual playfulness and, well, himself. Maybe he's still shaken up from last night when I, y'know, fell or whatever."

Lanie's dark eyes shifted to the double doors of the lab where the author had exited. "It surely would. You didn't see him in the cemetery, honey. Or the ambulance ride over. When you flatlined, he looked like he was about half a step behind you."

The detective rubbed at one coat sleeve. "You've told me before."

"Huh? Oh. Yeah, sorry. Go after him," her besty urged.

Beckett looked over at the doorway too and smiled faintly. "Not tonight. I have somewhere I need to be. Let him brood and get it out of his system. But soon," she added with a turn and a slowly spreading smirk at Lanie. "Oh yes. Soon. I can already hear the high-society ladies wailing in lament."

"Oh damn. Yes, girlfriend. There's my badass."

"Uh-huh. How've you been, sweetie? How's Tess? How's Javier?" she concluded with a wry waggle of her eyebrows.

"Ooh. Don't you start with me. Oh, screw it. Lemme put this poor girl to bed. I'll join your ass for dinner. Believe that."