Beckett suddenly found herself at a loss for words. The last time she had seen a living Mike Royce, she was arresting him, effectively ending the retired cop's second career as a bounty hunter and sending him hurtling toward the events that would eventually lead to his death. What do you *say* to someone in a situation like this? thought Beckett.

I believe you start with *hello*, Lanie replied through the mind-link.

Royce couldn't help but smile at the sudden awkwardness of his former partner. He had long ago made peace with the last things that had happened between them. Of course, *Beckett* didn't know that yet..."S'okay, kid. You don't have to say anything yet. Besides, you always seem to forget that us spooks communicate mind-to-mind, so technically, you don't have to say anything at *all*..."

Beckett relaxed into her own smile, falling easily into the rapport that they had established all those years earlier. It's good to see you, Mike.

"You too, kid," Royce agreed. "Or should I be calling you 'honored one', now?" Beckett blushed slightly when her old partner addressed her with her Guardian title. It was a reaction Royce couldn't help but notice. "Honored one it is, then," he teased with an affectionate wink.

What are you doing here? asked Beckett.

Mike scanned the room, quickly counting up how many non-Guardians were working the crime scene. "Not here," he told Beckett. "Too many 'others' still hanging around. Wouldn't want to get you a reputation for being a crazy woman now, would I?"

An hour later, everything at the crime scene was wrapped up. Esposito closed the door to the conference room back at the 12th precinct, effectively giving the team some privacy for their much-needed conversation.

"Okay Mike," Beckett began, "I'm pretty sure that it wasn't a coincidence for you to show up at this particular crime scene. So what's going on?"

Mike rubbed his hands together, drawing in a deep 'breath' and letting it out slowly to focus his thoughts. He then locked eyes with his old partner. "I need help, Kate. From the Guardians." Royce strolled over to the window of the conference room, looking out the window as he continued to try to gather his thoughts. Finally, he told his story. "After I moved to LA, I met this girl named Stephanie Frederikson. Opera singer, *amazing* voice. She came and asked for my help. She said she was being 'haunted', and that strange things were starting to happen around her: objects moving by themselves, stuff like that."

"What did you do?" asked Beckett.

"Nothing," Royce shrugged sadly. "I offered to get her professional help, but I basically thought she was off her rocker."

Ryan's focus had changed the minute Royce gave them the name from his old case. "Stephanie Frederickson...why does that name sound familiar?" A brief moment passed before his own memory came up with the answer. "She's in this production, isn't she?"

Royce nodded. "Problem is, once I died, I got a hard lesson in how wrong I was about her. Stephanie *is* being haunted."

"By you," commented Esposito.

Royce shook his head. "I'm just a spirit. I'm here until I get what I need to get done, done, and then I can move on. I'm not the one haunting Steph."

"What *is* haunting her, then?" asked Ryan.

Royce rubbed his face, trying to stall for time. It was pretty clear that he did *not* want to talk in great detail. "Did you ever see the movie 'Beetlejuice'?" As all the heads around the table nodded, Royce continued, "You know how if you said the guy's name three times he would appear and do everything he could to drive you nuts? Sometimes I feel that way about...her, it, whatever..."

It wasn't long before Royce realized that the detectives in front of him weren't going to take that response as an answer. "She's old, of that much I'm sure. It's been a *long* time since she looked normal. Long white hair done up like she lived in the 1800s. Hollow, sunken holes where her eyes should be. Stick-skinny and hunched over so that she looks a lot smaller than she should. Plus, she's got this...thing that serves her..."

"What does the creature look like?" asked Ryan.

"The head's human-looking, but the body's more like an owl," Royce replied.

Beckett thought over the places where she saw the ectoplasm at the crime scene. "The impression I saw on the wall might have looked like an owl in flight," she thought out loud. "But you said this creature *serves* her..."

"I'm not really sure who's at who's beck and call, to be honest," insisted Royce, clearly agitated by his memories of the creature. "But they're never away from each other for very long. It's not a pet, though, *that* much I'm sure about. It has its own devious little mind and whispers to her constantly."

"Has it killed around Stephanie before?" asked Beckett.

Royce shook his head. "No, see that's the thing. Up until now it's only *spooked* Steph, like it was trying to scare her off or something. It's just been since she got this gig at Lincoln Center that it's started killing people. But now that it's figured out *how* to kill people, I'm pretty sure it's not gonna stop."

"Okay," said Beckett, "Ryan, you and Esposito should probably follow up on your interview with Vanderkellen. There's got to be a reason why things have escalated since Stephanie got this job. Mike and I will go talk to Stephanie. I want to get her perspective on this whole thing..."

Ryan and Esposito walked through the corridors surrounding the opera house, trusting Esposito's memory of their conversation with the receptionist to navigate the maze of offices. "How much further is it to Vanderkellen's office, Javi?" asked Ryan.

"Not much further," Esposito replied. After a quiet moment passed between the two men as they walked, Esposito spoke up again. "Ryan, I got a question."

"Shoot."

"How the hell do you know so much about opera?"

A half-smile crossed Ryan's face, just for a moment. "Katya. She used to get tickets for us all the time. There was this one time, after we saw 'Carmen'..."

Esposito cut off the story quickly. "Whoa! Bro, I've been repressing the memories of your sex life for a *reason*..."

Ryan's smile grew full-blown and teasing. "Shame. Katya had this thing that she could do with her legs..."

"Ugh, Ryan!" Esposito raised his hands as if to ward off his partner's words with them. "I said I didn't want to know, okay?"

Ryan chuckled as he opened the door to the office, letting his partner take the lead. Esposito walked through the door and approached the assistant's desk at his partner's side. The slight but attractive young man looked up from the computer he was typing on. He was practically radiating annoyance at the disturbance to his day. "May I *help* you?"

"Detectives Esposito and Ryan, NYPD," Esposito introduced himself and his partner. "We were told you could get us the contact information for Jacob Bradford..."

The assistant rolled his eyes. "One *second*," he exclaimed with an overly exaggerated sigh. He called up the requested information on his computer, printing it and handing it over to Esposito without looking up or saying anything more to them.

Ryan studied the assistant carefully, knowing that they weren't going to get any information out of the man without a little creative talking. The Guardian reached into the mind of the man in front of him and quickly discovered what language the assistant spoke better than any other. Gossip. Ryan sat on the edge of the desk and leaned over to engage the assistant in a conspiratorial whisper. "Do you have any idea why we asked you for Jacob Bradford's phone number?"

"Yes, yes," the assistant replied with a bored sigh. "You're investigating the death of our jump-in Wotan."

"But," countered Ryan, "did you know that we're *also* looking into James Hightower's death?"

This perked up the assistant's ears immediately. "Really?" he asked, lowering his voice to match Ryan's, "I thought Hightower just got plastered and passed out face-down in the fountain..."

"You don't think there could be a connection, though?" asked Ryan. "I mean losing two Wotans so close together couldn't be a coincidence now, could it?"

The assistant craned his neck to look around Ryan, checking, apparently, to see if anyone else could possibly overhear the information he was about to divulge. He then went to a drawer in his desk and pulled out a thick Manila file. "Well, I'm *sure* you've noticed how our venerable leader isn't the most likeable of individuals?" At Ryan's nod, the assistant pushed the file across the desk. "Now, you didn't get this from me, but...these are the death threats my 'boss' has gotten since he took office. I mean, c'mon, who sends death threats to an opera house, right?"

Ryan flipped through the contents of the folder. Every letter was kept, easily readable, stapled to the envelope it came in. "You've been very organized with this," he complimented the assistant.

"I wanted to make sure I knew where to send the thank you card," the assistant responded with a smirk. He then pulled back the file, flipping through the pages until he found a letter that he seemed to find particularly memorable. "Thing is," the assistant commented, "most of these letters just wanted to go after *Vanderkellen's* head."

"Who wouldn't?" Ryan replied with an agreeing smile.

"But *this* one," the assistant continued without missing a beat, handing the letter to Ryan. "This one seemed particularly creepy even for a death threat."

Ryan skimmed briefly through the letter, impressed by the number of little details the writer seemed to know about Vanderkellen's life. "Is the stuff in here accurate?" asked Ryan.

The assistant nodded. "As far as I know. Including stuff my boss has never talked about in the press.

Esposito took a look at the note his partner was reading. Stalker?

Possibly, replied Ryan. Out loud, he asked the assistant, "Mind if we hold on to these?"

"Go ahead," the assistant replied, "as long as I can get credit for helping in the investigation. Name's Martin VanVinderschlock."

Ryan had to keep the expression on his face carefully steady as he took out a notebook and pen and dutifully wrote down the assistant's name, taking time to spell out every last letter correctly. It was only after the two detectives thanked Mr. VanVinderschlock for his time and were long away from the offices that Ryan allowed himself to speak. "Man, no wonder it took so long for him to tell us his name..."

"Yeah, you ain't kidding," agreed Esposito. "With a last name like that I probably wouldn't want to bring it up too much either. You think that letter's a solid lead?"

Ryan nodded. "The other letters seemed like standard hate mail, wanting to see Vanderkellen die in some painful way. The letter Martin gave us, though, was the only one that mentioned dismantling Vanderkellen's 'precious Ring' before killing him. And the easiest way to sabotage a production of the Ring cycle would be to start killing off the Wotans."

Beckett watched the crowds of young women going in and out of Cafe Luxembourg, carefully scanning them for anyone who could match Royce's general description of Stephanie Frederickson. Not that his description had given Beckett much to go on. "For chrissake, Mike, you've been haunting her for a year now, couldn't you give me a better description than a 5'9" skinny brunette?"

"She's not the *only* person I've been watching," Mike countered quickly. "Besides, time moves differently on the other side. For me it's only been a couple of weeks since Ganz...thank you for that, by the way."

Beckett shifted her weight between her feet, uncomfortable enough with the topic that she refused to look Royce in the eye over it. "Yeah, well, you would've done the same for me."

"True," agreed Royce with a smile. All thoughts focused back on the case, though, as Stephanie Frederickson left the cafe and headed toward the opera house. "There she is," declared Royce, "that's her."

Beckett flipped back into detective mode instantly. She crossed the street and quickly caught up with the woman, calling her name as she went. "Ms. Frederickson!"

The tall brunette turned around with her small contingent of cast-mates. "Yes?"

Beckett flashed her badge immediately. "Detective Kate Beckett, NYPD. I need to ask you some questions."

Stephanie tugged on her heavy backpack as she said goodbye to her friends, trying to adjust her weight to get comfortable as she felt the situation get more and more uncomfortable. "About what, detective?"

"Thomas Engebretsen was found dead last night on the stage of the opera house," Beckett replied matter-of-factly to gauge her reaction.

It was not a guilty woman's reaction. Stephanie paled visibly, swaying unsteadily on her feet from the shock. She slowly staggered over to a nearby bench and lowered herself down to sit on it. "My god..." she exclaimed in a quiet gasp, "is Jake okay?"

"Jake?"

"Jake Bradford. He is...was...our Wotan cover. They got that Swedish pig after Hightower died, but now that he's dead too...god, Jake's all we've got left. And dress is *tomorrow*..."

"I take it you weren't a fan of Engebretsen, Ms. Frederickson?" asked Beckett.

Stephanie waived off the comment. "Eh, Engebretsen was all right, I guess. Great voice, but a little crass and a little too diva-y for my tastes. Plus he had a tendency to want to hit on anything with breasts."

Beckett's eyes widened as she listened to Stephanie's casual description of Engebretsen's sexist behavior. "Did he make any enemies in the cast?"

Stephanie shook her head before taking a drink from her water bottle. "He wasn't around long enough. He got called in less than a week ago."

Beckett nodded, understanding Stephanie's point. Still, I have to ask..."Stephanie, where were you last night between 10 and midnight?"

Royce answered the question in near-unison with Stephanie, "I went bowling at Leisure Time with some friends last night and got home around 11:30."

Beckett nodded and took down her alibi to confirm it later. "There's one more thing," the detective added with a quiet hesitation, "I...I was a friend of Michael Royce."

Stephanie's walls went up almost immediately. "And?"

"He told me about you," Beckett replied, sitting down on the bench next to her. "One of his biggest regrets in his life was that he couldn't help you out with your...problem."

Stephanie jumped up from the bench, heading immediately for the theater. "*My* problem..." she muttered under her breath, "Mike Royce didn't give a rat's ass about my *problem*..."

Beckett caught up to the younger woman quickly. "I think you'll find I'm a little more...open-minded than Mike was when you met him."

Stephanie stared Beckett down with a an attitude that spoke of years of frustration. "An open-minded cop? Really?"

"Try me," replied Beckett.

"All right," Stephanie agreed reluctantly. She sat back down on the bench, resting her backpack between her legs on the ground as she began her story. "My freshman year in college, as I was walking home from my first performance...I saw a ghost."

Beckett nodded, gently urging Stephanie to continue. "Did the ghost speak to you?"

"No," replied Stephanie, shaking her head. "The ghost doesn't speak to me. At least, the woman doesn't."

"You've seen more ghosts than that?"

Stephanie nodded, cautiously judging Beckett's reaction. "Just one. A bird."

Beckett looked Stephanie square in the eye, knowing this was her opportunity to gain the younger woman's trust. "But it was only half a bird, wasn't it? It had a woman's head, didn't it?"

Stephanie's face paled as her eyes widened with fear and amazement at Beckett's questions. "Yeah," she replied, "how did you know?"

"I have my sources," Beckett replied. "The bird's the one that talked to you?"

"Yeah," replied Stephanie. "Whenever I needed to figure out what the next step in my career would be, that crazy bird had the right answer. Every time."

"That's not all, though, is it?" asked Beckett. "If all the ghosts did was give you good career advice, then you wouldn't have gone to Mike..."

Stephanie quietly shook her head. "You're right," she agreed, guilt practically radiating from her demeanor. "I've seen things. Things I can't explain...people got hurt. Because of me."

Beckett was starting to catch on. Quietly, she asked, "The bird didn't just give you career advice, did it?"

"No," replied Stephanie, shaking her head sadly. "Every time I got a cover...something would happen to the singer who got the role, and I would have to go on in their place."

Royce let loose with a string of curses, guiltily berating himself for every woman who got hurt because he didn't believe Stephanie the first time. "God, Steph, I'm so sorry..."

Beckett ignored her ghostly partner, focusing her attention on the woman in front of her. "Have you see the ghosts since you've been cast in this production?"

Stephanie perked up slightly as the realization hit her. "Oddly enough, no. Weird, too, considering I'm Erda's cover..."

Esposito leaned back in his chair and rubbed his eyes, tired as he was from trying to navigate through so much terrible handwriting. It's amazing how the 'I hate you's and 'I'm gonna kill you's all blend together after a while...

His idle thoughts turned, as they often did, to his fiancé. But this time, when Esposito closed his eyes, he *saw* through the eyes of his beloved, who was in the middle of weighing the organs of the body she was performing an autopsy on. Curious as to the strength of the newly recognized link between them, Esposito tried to project his thoughts as his partner had done so often. Lanie?

Lanie jumped back from the body, nearly dropping the corpse's stomach on the floor. She wheeled around to face the door, then scanned the room carefully when she realized that the man whose voice she had heard was not actually in the room with her. Javi? she thought, Is that you?

Esposito chuckled happily into the mind-link. Yeah, chica, it's me.

Man, you boys scared me half to death, Lanie chided as she put the man's stomach on the scale. She frowned as she realized who she wasn't hearing in the conversation. Ryan? Everything ok?

It's...it's actually *just* me, Esposito admitted.

Esposito could hear Lanie's breath catch in a gasp, just for a moment. Everything's okay, though, right?

Yeah, replied Esposito. I actually did this on my own.

You did? Lanie asked, clearly confused. How?

Apparently, there's this connection between us, Esposito told her. Alexis pointed it out to me this morning. I hadn't actually realized it before then, but now I'm starting to pick up on it more and more.

Really? asked Lanie, her skepticism clearly coming through the mind-link.

Esposito nodded before he realized she probably wouldn't recognize the gesture yet. Try it. Where am I?

At your desk at the precinct, Lanie replied without thinking. Going through the death threats that sleazebag Vanderkellen's been getting...wow... she commented with her own chuckle through the mind-link.

Yeah, commented Esposito, crazy, huh?

Yeah...Lanie agreed in amazement. So you can't do this with everybody, huh? Just me?

Yep. It's a couple's thing, apparently.

Lanie considered Esposito's statement for a moment, then thought about her best friend. So Beckett and Castle...?

He's too far away right now, because of the whole London thing. It *is* the main reason she's been such a pain to be around lately.

It is, huh? Lanie continued her autopsy with a smile on her face. We're going to have to try this out in more...detail later tonight.

Esposito chuckled as he got hit with the full list of Lanie's plans for the evening. It's a good thing these thoughts are just between us...

Yeah, well you're going to have to remember that those ideas are for *later*. I have an autopsy to finish and your partner's starting to get worried...

He is...wait, what?

Esposito closed the connection to his fiancé to see his partner looking over at him with an expression of confusion and concern. "Javi?" asked Ryan, "You ok, man?"

It took a moment for Esposito's mind to switch back to the present. "Yeah," he answered his partner. "What's up?"

Ryan projected into his partner's mind, You were 'talking' to Lanie, weren't you?

Yeah, Esposito agreed, how'd you know?

I recognize that look, Ryan replied with a smile. Out loud, he encouraged Esposito to wheel his chair around. "Come here and take a look at this." Esposito pushed his chair around until he could see Ryan's computer. Ryan explained, "I went through Stephanie Frederickson's website and checked the cast lists of as many of them as I could find. Turns out she's worked with some of the same people. A lot."

"Didn't you say that Wagnerian singers are pretty rare?" asked Esposito.

"That's true," agreed Ryan, "but there's a few names that really stick out. They jump around from leading roles to *much* smaller roles to even chorus parts. And there only seems to be one common thread between their choice of job selection."

"Stephanie Frederickson?" asked Esposito.

"Stephanie Frederickson," agreed Ryan.