Thank you all for following along. I will be offline for a few days due to the farm being busy and my laptop keyboard taking a dump. This isn't nearly as much fun working off an external keyboard. Thanks for all the kind and "passionate" reviews.

"I can't believe Larry is dead."

Hudson O'Neill, leader of the HMA Men's shelter was visibly distraught as he sat down in the unoccupied booth of the soup kitchen.

The stout man in his mid-60's wore a blue polo shirt, dress slacks and, according to many of the people residing here- a permanent smile.

That was, except for today.

"Did he mention anything going on in his life, anybody who threatened him?", Beckett began her usual spiel and sat down across from him, interweaving her hands on the table while Castle pulled up a chair to join them.

"No. If anything, it was quite the opposite."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, he's been with us for the past year or so but I really noticed a difference in him these last couple of weeks. As I am sure you know, he struggled with depression and some of the…some of the memories from the war. It really tore him up good. But suddenly, he began to smile again, talk to some of the other guys living here, became interested in seeking out a new job."

Castle glanced over at her, both of them sensing the confirmation of their earlier theories.

"What do you suppose caused the change?", the writer pried while playing with the salt and pepper shakers in front of him.

"He did see a shrink again for a while, about six months ago I'd say. It was the same guy he went to after he was fired from the shop. This time, he didn't go very often though, only for a couple of weeks."

"You're not aware of anything else besides a few appointments six months ago, Mister O'Neill? Did he begin taking some sort of pills perhaps?"

"You're not…you're not suggesting he was into some sort of drugs, are you? Larry was a clean guy!", the man countered defensively and reached for a handkerchief from his pants to wipe his sweaty forehead.

"Not drugs. Not the illegal type anyway."

Upon Castle's response, O'Neill frowned, trying to sort his memory. In the end, he shook his head with a woeful sigh.

"I really don't think so. You can look at his room. It's clean and organized. Typical military guy, you know."

"We'd like that very much, once we're done here.", Beckett said and pointed her chin at the clock above the main doorway, "Mister O'Neill, our ME determined that Larry was murdered between 9 and 10pm last night. We found him in an alley a dozen or so blocks away from here. Do you have any idea what he might have been doing there? Did he talk about meeting somebody?"

"Not at all, detective. You see, we have strict hours here at the Mission. Everyone must be accounted for by 9pm, no exceptions. That's when we close the front door."

"Do you guys do a headcount each night then, to see who's here and who isn't?"

Despite the professional tone in Castle's voice, the other man began to tear up, struggling with the sad situation.

"Normally I do.", he said between sobs, "But I felt tired last night and just went straight home. I keep…I keep wondering if things would have been different had I checked on everyone. You see, some of the guys fall off the deep end once in a while. I wouldn't have been worried had they been gone. But Larry…I would have been worried and called the police. God, I feel like this is all my fault."

"It isn't, Mister O'Neill. It's the fault of the man who killed him.", Beckett said soothingly, going as far as reaching forward to tap the other man's forearm, "Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to take a look at Larry's room, see if there is anything there that could tell us why he left here yesterday."