A/N- WOW! So, It's been a year since I took the time to update any of my stories (Sorry about that!), and I kind of missed it. This story was one of those which I didn't want to leave unfinished, so...walla!

Please R&R

Chapter 10:

Anatoly Aronov jolts awake as the cell's door rolls open. He blinks against the sunlight hitting his eyes in this current position, tilting his head in curiosity and confusion.

"Move your ass, ye Punk," A man in uniform growls impatiently, and a minute later a dark figure is pushed into the cell by the officer, "serves you right, Asshole."

The new inmate growls at the latter, hisses as soon as the cell gets locked again behind him. "Pashel Na-Khuy!" he spits in Russian, but the uniform is unimpressed, "Yeah, yeah, gladly," he answers, "Just find me someone to do it with in this hellhole." And less than a minute later, he's gone.

Anatoly stares, taking him in. The man is young, probably mid-twenties at best, his hair light blonde, his skin pale. He's dressed in a beige hoodie and faded jeans, and reeks of cigarettes and possibly meth, too. As soon as the officer leaves them be, he kicks the bars in fury, "Fucking cops!" he yells in Russian, the room's acoustics is his only answer, "I want my lawyer!" he continues, "I didn't do anything, you hear?! Get me 'outta this dump!"

He then turns around, glaring at Anatoly, eyes narrowing with contempt. "What are you looking at?!" he spits in English, accent well noted.

"You," Anatoly replies slowly in Russian, the inmate's fierce glare softens a bit when hearing his mother tongue, "You think yelling at them will do you any good?" he shakes his head, "That's not going to work. They'll use whatever you say against you. Better just keep quiet and not piss them off."

"Oh, yeah?" the man challenges, voice filled with sarcasm, "The how come you're still here instead of out there?" he tilts his head towards the exit, "They lock me up here so I'll rat on my dealer, what's your talent, then?"

"Well," Anatoly leans back, pulls out a cigarette, just to have something to occupy his fingers with, they can't smoke here, "Apparently, I slit a girl's throat a few days ago," he shrugs tiredly, slumber is not a common guest in this place.

The inmate arches his eyebrows, "Well, shit," he says, turning to sit on the bed in-front of Anatoly, "that's totally fucked up." He concludes.

Anatoly closes his eyes momentarily, sighing. "Yeah, it is," he says, then opens them again.

"What's your name?"

The young man pulls on his nose, "Alexei," he lets in. "You?"

"Anatoly."

"Well, Anatoly…" he says, a bit mockingly; he then looks around, sighing, "Don't supposed you have porn in here, by any chance…?"

Anatoly growls in frustration.

Olga Aronov is a confused, frightened young lady, Beckett soon discovers. Her eyes unfocused as they travel along the break-room, she's constantly on alert.

Her face hesitant, Olga plays with her fingers repeatedly, her blue eyes wide and searching.

"Thank you for speaking with us, Olga," Beckett says, turning back to the table with a cup of warm latte, handing it over to Olga, who smiles in gratitude. "I know it must be hard of you."

Olga nods, her dark, curly hair somewhat covering her face. "Yes, it is," she says, eyes moist with unshed tears, voice hoarse, "When can I see my husband?" she asks timidly.

"Soon," Beckett shakes her head, then flips her folder open, "But I need to be honest with you, Olga. Where things stand right now, it doesn't look good for him…-"

…"Detective, Anatoly is a good man!" Olga protests, voice shaking, "He wouldn't do this! He is the gentlest soul on earth, wouldn't hurt a fly!" she wife plead, "Look, detective…" she pauses to take a breath, "We're married, but he's not like me… he can barely speak the language, he immigrated less than 3 years ago… when we met… it was the first time he could trust someone who understood him in years." She passes a hand through her hair, then exhales again.

"You know," she smiles tearfully, "I just gave birth less than two months ago…"

Next to Beckett, Castle smiles, "Congratulations…." He says honestly, nodding once.

Her smiles broadens, "A boy," she says, voice filled with love and pride, "His name is Ivan. The most precious baby… You know, Anatoly thought up the name… we were so happy…" she has to stop there, pursing her lips.

Beckett listens attentively, "I saw Tamara on the news, you see…" Olga continues, "Those big brown eyes… that raven hair…she looked like a princess. I cannot even imagine…" she frowns, "the kind of pain Mrs. Richmond must be going through… But Detective, Anatoly is a father, too. We just had our firstborn. Why would he attack a defenseless child, knowing first hand just how precious and fragile children are?..." Beckett twists her lips in consideration. During this case, not once the question of Anatoly's motive was brought up till now, and by his own spouse, no less. "When he told me what happened that night, I was shocked! I mean…."

That gets Castle's attention, "Wha…Whe…" he and Beckett exchanges looks, as Olga's last sentence alerts Beckett as well, "What exactly did he tell you, and when?" Beckett inquires.

"Uhhm… he came back that evening, exhausted and still with his work-clothes. When I asked him what was the matter, he says that he heard of a missing child from the school, that there were volunteers looking for her, but it seems that they found her, that she fell in the bathroom, or something. It really got to him! We were both shocked to hear the child was murdered! We were positive it was just some twisted tragedy!" she concludes.

Castle frowns at that, offering Beckett a meaningful look.

"Mhhmm… Do you remember when he came home?"

Olga scratches her forhead, in attempt to remember, "I'm not sure…. 5:30? Maybe 6:00? It really depends on the day…"

'Well, isn't that convenient'…. Castle thinks, staring at the far wall.

"Olga, thank you so much for your cooperation," Beckett says, face severe, "I'll keep you posted on any possible updates."

"Well, that's new," Castle says, hands in pockets as they leave the room.

"What… the fact that none of this makes any sense, or that Olga Aronov just complicated her husband even more?"

"Well, both," Castle shrugs, taking his seat next to her table, "So… He knew there was a child missing, that something happened to her in the bathroom, but told Olga he 'heard' she just 'fell'? Now why don't I believe that?"

"Because you use your head, Castle," she replies, leans back in her chair, "Olga said he came back around 6:00… at most late… But the volunteer found the body more than 20 minutes later… There's no way he could have known that unless he was there before us."

"Which points his involvement…" Castle clicks his tongue, "you think Brock was right and they got us the right guy, after all?" Though his spider-senses keep calling "false-alarm", he must at least consider it, even if it fills all wrong.

"Uhhh!" Beckett growls in frustration, "I don't know!" she calls, "Hopefully Lanie will tell us."

"I don't know what to tell you." The ME admits with a shrug.

'Oh, great'.

"I stand behind everything I said before, though. This murder was committed by a person who was significantly shorter than our victim, and left handed. I couldn't identify and traces of foreign DNA on our victim. Hopefully our shoe-prints' guy will help shedding some light on this thing, because frankly, and you never heard me saying that, but… I'm kind of lost here, baby."

Dropping her head momentarily, Beckett mumbles, "Like I feared," and Castle twists his lips in frustration.

"So… how are things going with His-Majesty-Brocks?" she all but snarls.

"Oh, don't let me go there, Lane…" Beckett comments, "We'll never hear the end of it. He keeps throwing it in our faces, how they caught the killer before us."

"Without even a clue of forensic evidence to support it, I bet," the ME says with contempt.

"Well," Castle replies, "They claim they have everything they need. The box-cutter with her blood on it, lack of alibi, witnesses at the scene…-"

"Wait…" Lanie stops him there. "A box-cutter?"

"Yeah," Beckett says, "It was found in one of the school's lockers, the murder weapon was hidden under the…-"

"Ah, no, that can't be…" Lanie raises her hand to silence her friend.

"What do you mean?" Beckett asks.

Lanie signs them to follow to the table, "Come look," she says, walking towards the other side of the morgue. Finding the right folder, she located a magnified photo. A long line of blood is apparent on the right side. "See this?" Lanie asks, and they shake their heads, "It's the injury left on Tamara's cheek, as the murderer cut her from one side to the other." She points on her own cheek to emphasize.

"Yes, what about it?"

"Look here," Lanie points at the left side of the photos, where one can notice a line of small red spots, "See those little dots here? The wide line of blood as it narrows with the knife's movement?"

"Yes…"

"These dots originate in a serrated knife, not a Japanese blade or a box cutter." Lanie points out, "As I see it, there's just no way this injury was caused by a box-cutter," As Castle and Beckett exchange astonished look, Lanie concludes, "I don't know what they found in that locker, but it sure as hell aint our murder weapon."