A/N : Sorry about this chapter being shorter than the previous ones. Been struggling with the Flu for the last few days, so any writing had to be put aside for the time being. Promise that once I'm fully back on my feet, you'll enjoy longer chapters.

Again, thank you for following, please leave your comments and thoughts. It nothing but helps me improve.

Grammatical errors will probably repeat until I can express my English in a mother-tongue-like level. When will that happen? I don't know. But I'm constantly working on that, word.

Chapter 5:

Brock's upright skeletal standing position threatens to swallow Kate Beckett whole. His eyes narrow, ridges frown, the glint in his eyes ominous.

Beckett refuses to back down, "Lanie's report is strictly clear," she waves the folder in front of him emphasizingly, "You're going to just ignore the findings?" she challenges him.

"We have our own precinct examiner, detective," he rolls mockingly, maddeningly, "He came to the inevitable conclusion based on the evidence presented to him," his lashes flicker dangerously, "You know what I'm not going to ignore, detective?" he whispers silkily, approaching until his face is inches from hers, she can feel his breath covering her, and she's practically about to lose her balance, "The fact that he was at the crime scene, even though he swear he was not. The fact that the girl complained about his behavior, the fact that his shoe-prints are all over her damn trousers, that the cut on her cheek was with his damn knife!"

That catches her attention, "His knife?" she asks.

"Yes," says Brock, "his fricking box-cutter. Found hidden along with his clothes and shoes, all tainted with blood. Now what does that tell you?"

That you're fishing, and obviously on the wrong pond, she wishes to add, but refrains from doing so. All she can do is shake her head disapprovingly.

She turns around then, releasing a puff of hair, heading towards the hallway. Esposito makes his way towards her desk, accompanied by Ryan, as he gives a walking-out Brock an angry stare, "I knew these guys are bad news," he hisses, irritated, "Did they even bother to look at what Lanie found?" he wonders.

A low grunt is his answer.

"Where is Aronov now?" asks Ryan.

"Back in holding," Beckett passes a hand through her long soft locks, "their next step is obviously trying to pull out a confession. And I have to say, this does look bad. I mean, if he didn't do anything, why would he lie? Something just doesn't add up here, at all."

"Maybe he covers for someone?" interjects Castle usefully.

"Yeah, but who? And why? He barely speaks English, and doesn't know the teachers or students. I can't find reason in this guy's behavior whatsoever."

Castle bites his lower lip, obviously deep in thought, "So, what do we do now?"

"What we do best," Kate tosses her folder on the table, "investigate. Lanie says she doesn't believe it's a work of an adult, which complicates things dramatically, as we all know," the two detectives and writer nod, "But we do our Job. Espo, call the CSU again, get details concerning the trousers findings. Ryan, check with Karpawski on the computer unit, and ask what's with the IP address we've asked for. Besides that, I want her computer checked and cleaned. Her Facebook, messenger account, E-mail, I want those checked," the detective nods, "I want to know about each kid that might have had issues with her; I don't trust any of their questionings right now."

"Already one it," he calls, and is gone in a flash.

"And what do we do?" Castle pushes eagerly.

"We go over their testimonies again, look for inconsistencies or something that we probably missed earlier," calls Beckett.

The phone rings, and she picks up to answer. "Lanie here," she answers automatically.

"Parish, ah, at last!" a squeaky voice greets from the other side of the line.

"Natasha, girl, been waiting for your phone call!" Lanie's voice is cheerful once she recognizes the voice, "Please tell me you have something for me. It's like I hit rock-bottom here."

"Well, I got something for you, alright," says Natasha, "CSU looked out for possible DNA matches?" ('The ones that weren't there?') They found two more samples of hair. One on the toilet seat, one on the left wall. They've got it compared to your guy in holding."

Lanie's eyes lighten, "And?" she inquires eagerly.

"Sending you the findings as we speak."

"You know why I love you, gal!" Lanie cherishes.

"Don't be a stranger."

Her eyes still fixed on the photos of the crime scene and bruises, when her laptop beeps, informing her of a new incoming mail. She leaves the table, approaching the laptop, opening the e-mail, to check the folder and the report findings. Her eyes travel over the information, narrow in concentration, as she takes in the results.

Hair IC3(32) doesn't match victim Tamara Richmond, doesn't match POI sample Anatoly Aronov.

Hair IC3(52) doesn't match victim Tamara Richmond, doesn't match POI sample, doesn't match Hair IC3(32)

Hair IC4(42) doesn't match victim Tamara Richmond, doesn't match POI sample, doesn't match Hair IC3(32) or IC3(52).

Passing a palm over her mouth thoughtfully, seriously, Lanie can do nothing but whisper, "Then who the hell was with you in that stall?"

Thomas Gomez grimaces as he stares at the screen in-front of him. He blinks. Few times.

This can't be right.

"Hey, Karpawski!" he calls, turning his head backwards towards the officer currently on the phone, "You sure Esposito gave you the right details?" he asks.

"Mitch, I'm gonna have to call you back," she murmurs, then hangs up, "what's up, Gomez?"

"Checked both her computer and cell-phone here," he points at the device, "And this is what I found," he points at the few open windows on the screen.

At first she doesn't even understand what she's seeing, but then, after a long stare, she does.

Wait, she thinks, this can't be right.

She's going to kill Javier Esposito.

As they go over the report again, sitting in the main break-room, all 3 homicide detectives and Castle, Esposito's phone buzzes, and he pulls it from his pocket, "Esposito," he says hoarsely, exhaustion clearly heard in his voice.

"Esposito?" a tight feminine voice doesn't bother with greetings, "Karpawski."

"Yo, girl," he rubs his face with his left palm, trying to force himself on staying awake, "Do you have somethin'?"

"Oh, do I?" her voice is pissed, "Actually, I called to say that if you and Ryan are trying to pull one over on me like you did last winter? It's hardly funny!"

"Wait, what?" his hand drops on the table, pulling the curious gaze of his colleagues, "What are you talking about?" he asks.

"Esposito, I called Gomez to check on the girl's computer and smartphone like you asked, trying to nail down your mysterious-guy Austin's IP address," she says.

"Yes, did he trace it?"

"Oh, you bet he did!" she barks, "It's in the goddamn school, Javier!"

And Esposito is fully awake, now.

…TBC…

A/N : More to come soon.