Rick and Kate gazed through the two-way mirror at the woman sitting at the table in the interrogation room. Maggie Maguire was studying her hands, or at least her head was dropped slightly, although she didn't seem to be focused on her fingers.

"You're not serious," Rick said, turning on his partner.

"She knows altogether more than I'm comfortable with."

Rick stared at her. "She's a writer! That's what she does!"

"She knew it was about twins and a diversionary tactic before we did." Kate was feeling particularly stubborn, not helped by the fact that she herself had got a call from the Mayor that very morning, in fact very early that very morning, waking her from a sleep troubled with dreams of a certain author. Being woken up wasn't a problem, but having him tell her in no uncertain terms to "get your finger out and figure out what moron stole something he doesn't have a hope in hell of fencing" was. And because Rick was there, she was taking it out on him. Sort of.

"Because I told her that I'd seen the woman already dead, and the diversion was something that just came up." Rick shook his head, noting the set of her jaw. "You've got nothing to hold her on. You know that."

"I'm not. Esposito called your place, and she's come in of her own accord. To help us."

"Right." He crossed his arms, his body language shouting what he was really thinking.

"And if she's got nothing to hide, she's got nothing to worry about."

"Except you think she has."

Kate lifted her eyebrow, but strode towards interrogation, Rick following, shaking his head.

---

Maggie looked up as the door opened. "Detective."

"Miss Maguire."

Rick slid into the room before Kate could close the door, earning himself a cold glare. He let it slide off him, like water off a duck, and turned to Maggie. He smiled amiably. "Hi."

She returned it. "Hi."

"Seems like a touch of déjà vu."

"Just a touch."

"Here." He put a mug of coffee down on desk. "I thought you might be able to use this."

"Thanks. It's pretty cold out." She cupped her hands around it, letting the heat warm her fingers.

"Don't thank me yet. You haven't tasted it. The espresso machine's broken, and I was going to go down to the pod on the corner, get you a decent one, but I figured she probably wouldn't let me in if I did that." He nodded towards Kate.

"Thanks anyway."

"You're welcome," he said, retreating to the corner of the room.

"Oddly enough, we're not here to discuss the relative merits of precinct coffee." Kate sat down, placing two folders on the desk in front of her. "Rather a case of double murder."

"So it was murder," Maggie muttered.

"And that has me wondering if you don't know more about it than you're letting on."

Maggie glanced from Kate to Rick and back, then leaned forward, speaking quietly. "You know, if you're going to do the whole good cop/bad cop thing? It helps if both of you are cops."

"Castle is here as an observer only."

Maggie sat back. "Right."

"And he's not going to say another word."

"Good luck with that. I've never managed it." Maggie's lips twitched as she saw the affront on Rick's face.

Kate didn't even flicker. Instead she pulled two photos from inside one of the folders. "Do you recognise these women?"

Maggie studied them, apparently taken at the time of post-mortem from the stitches visible just below their shoulders. "Well, that's the one from the awards. I don't know the other."

"How can you tell? They're twins."

"She's got her ears pierced." Maggie tapped one of the pictures. "I noticed because she only had one ear ring in. I … I wonder if it means the other one is …" She unfocused for a moment, then saw the look on Beckett's face and added quickly, "She's got pierced ears, the other one doesn't."

"That's what you remember. Not that she was dead."

"They're both dead, so I don't see that makes any difference. And yes, I do remember this girl dying in front of me. All too damn well." She took a deep breath, and visibly made herself loosen up. "Besides, I notice things. I make assumptions. Then I make up stories about those assumptions. I do it for a living."

"Stories and assumptions." Kate raised an eyebrow. "And what stories and assumptions did you come up with for last night?"

Maggie shrugged. "Detective, there were a lot of people in that room, and I can guarantee you that each and every one of them has an idea about what was going on, some probably more bizarre than others. Are you going to be talking to each of them?"

"No. Mainly because they didn't let slip about it being a diversion."

Rick was about to intervene, to say that Maggie hadn't let slip anything, but then he caught sight of the look in her eye, and relaxed. This was the Maggie he used to know, the one who didn't let anyone get anything over on her. He smiled slightly and leaned nonchalantly against the wall.

"Let slip." Maggie laughed. "Right. You know, I wish I had thought to rob the Sheikh. I could do with the pocket money." She became serious again. "Look, we all make up stories. Each of us in this room. Rick and I are writers, but you do it too. You look at the facts, work up a theory. Just a story by another name."

"And yet you were there when Michelle Tyler died."

"Michelle? Was that her name?"

"Her sister was Amanda. Their grandfather is the only one left now. And I have to go and tell him that they're dead." Kate was exaggerating a little. The local LEOs would have been round to inform him, since he technically lived outside the Manhattan area, in the Bronx, but it was still going to be a difficult visit.

Maggie leaned forward, her elbows on the table, her hands clasped lightly, the coffee forgotten. "I don't kill people, Detective Beckett." She paused, then added, "Well, maybe on paper, but not in real life."

"You knew about the robbery." Kate wasn't about to let it go, picking away at it, and slid another photo out from the second folder, this one of a diamond necklace that would have been vulgar to anyone but a Liberace fan. Even though it was just a picture, the glare was almost overwhelming.

"I guessed. I told you, it's like a book plot. And nothing is ever as simple as it seems, at least in print."

Rick had said pretty much the same thing, Kate realised. Perhaps it was something to do with being a writer, having to see conspiracies in everything. "You have to admit it's a coincidence."

Maggie was starting to get annoyed, and she allowed it to show. "I made up a story! Out of the thousands that I do, every day without even thinking about it, by the law of averages there has to be a percentage that are true."

"That just doesn't cut it."

"Okay. I'll prove it. I could make up a story about you. That, because you've been working with Rick, you think what he and I do is easy, that it's money for nothing. So you've been working on a novel …" Off an uneasy look that flashed across Kate's face before she could stop it, Maggie gained confidence, and carried on. "Probably crime, since that's what you know. With a love story. Only you're stuck. Round about a quarter of the way through. You know how it wants to end, but you can't get there. I'd be happy to read it, if you like," she added brightly. "Give you some helpful hints."

Rick was intrigued, and stared at Kate. Here was yet another side of the woman he'd barely scratched the surface of.

The very faintest of blushes touched Kate's cheeks. "No, thank you."

"Still, I think I've made my point." Maggie smiled, a bit like the cat that not only got the canary, but filled the whole damn aviary with feathers. "Now, I've answered your questions, and unless you have anything else, I've an appointment to get to, so I'm going to go now. But if you want any more assistance, I'll be at the Park Central." She stood up, paused for a moment in case Kate was going to arrest her, then walked out, exchanging an odd look with Rick on the way.

He didn't follow. Instead he stared at his partner. "You're writing a novel? Why didn't you tell me?"

"How did she know?" Then Kate cursed inwardly for having admitted to something she knew he was going to hold against her.

"No idea. But she's good. You've got to admit that. She picked up on … wait a minute. The Park Central?" He hurried out, but there was no sign of her. Turning to where Esposito and Ryan were at their desks, he asked, "Hey, did either of you see where -"

Kevin Ryan put his hand over the mouthpiece of the phone he was using, and pointed. "Bathroom."

"Thanks."

Rick half ran to the ladies room, slamming the door open. A uniformed police officer glared at him, then pushed past, muttering under her breath.

"Maggie?" he called.

"What the …" There was a pause, then the sound of water flushing. Maggie exited from one of the stalls, pulling her black leather coat back around her. "Rick, this is the ladies bathroom, in case you hadn't noticed."

"I wasn't planning on using it." He stepped towards her. "What's all this crap about going to the Park Central?"

"It would be better, don't you think? I mean, I was only going to be staying a night or two anyway." She turned on a tap over one of the sinks and washed her hands.

"You know that isn't a problem."

"I don't want you to have a conflict of interest."

"Maggie, I'm only a consultant. There is no conflict. Granted, Kate would love to have me out of here, so -"

"Exactly. And that wouldn't be a good idea. Someone has to solve this." Grabbing a paper towel from the dispenser she began to dry her hands, each movement as if she was strangling someone, gazing at him in the mirror.

"She will."

"You think?" She glared at his reflection. "She's convinced I did it."

"Did you?"

She leaned on the counter under the mirror, her fingers tapping as she made each point. "Hmn, let me see. So, sometime between me getting off the plane and the awards … I suppose I could have sneaked away from either the driver, your mother, your daughter, you … and found twins, taken one back in a time machine and killed her, poisoned the other, and got back just at the right moment for her to die in front of me. While I managed to clone myself so I could go and rob the Sheik. Absolutely. Sounds like a terrible plot."

"I don't think it's that bad." He was trying to make a joke, but she wasn't laughing.

"Fine. Use it. Mazel tov." She tossed the used paper towel into the bin and walked out, but he was still at her heels.

"Maggie, why are you angry with me?" he asked.

"Because."

"That's not an answer."

She pushed the button to summon the elevator. "It's the best you're going to get."

"Is it because of Kate? I explained why I didn't tell you. And I apologised."

"It's not. And I'm not angry with you." She pressed the call button again.

"You're giving a pretty good impression of it."

She turned on him. "Rick. It's your life. I don't have a say in it." The elevator doors finally opened, and she stepped inside.

He stepped forward. "Maggie -"

She put her hand in the middle of his chest. "You know, I was right. You never do shut up." She pushed and the elevator doors closed. He was left staring at the blurred image of himself, his face over-written with the words engraved on the metal – 12th Precinct.

"Castle? You okay?" It was Esposito, on his way somewhere.

Rick took a deep breath, and managed a smile. "I'm fine."

"Good. Because Kate said for you to meet her downstairs, if you wanted to go and see the Tylers' grandfather with her."

"Oh. Right, thanks." He glanced up at the indicator, showing the elevator was still on the ground floor, and decided he needed the exercise. He headed for the stairs.

---

Kate was right. It wasn't easy. Dominic Tyler was probably only in his early sixties, but he looked twenty years older. The various sporting trophies around the room were testament to a life filled with activity, as were the photos of him playing golf, tennis, even taking part in the New York marathon, but despite the fact that some of them were probably only a year or so old, he looked like he could barely walk to the end of the block now. His cheeks were sunken, and his shoulders bowed, and neither of them were under any illusion that he hadn't been crying before they arrived.

"Mr Tyler, did either of your granddaughters have enemies?" Kate asked, coming to the end of the list of questions she had to ask, and not having got much more information beyond they were good girls.

"No. None." Tyler twisted a paper tissue between his fingers, tiny fragments drifting to the floor. "They were only twenty, for God's sake. How many enemies do you think they could make at that age?"

"What about boyfriends?" Rick asked, his heart going out to this man, and he offered up an honest prayer that he'd never have to go through this about Alexis.

"Michelle wasn't interested in boys. She was too focused on her career." Tyler got up and took a photo frame from amongst those clustered tightly on the piano. He handed it to Kate. "She was a pianist. She was enrolled in Juilliard, and they expected great things of her."

Kate handed the picture to Rick. It was of a young girl, obviously one of the Tyler twins although it was impossible to say which one. She was smiling broadly at the photographer and seated at that very piano.

"She looks … happy," he said, falling back on weak pleasantries.

Tyler didn't seem to notice. "She was. Very happy. Always laughing."

"Did Amanda have a boyfriend?" Kate asked.

Tyler sat back down and resumed tearing the tissue to shreds. "Yes. She said it was true love, only if it was it wasn't the kind she wanted to talk about. Andy. Andrew. That was his name."

"Do you know his surname? Where he lived?"

"No." Tyler shook his head. "Amanda always did keep things close to her chest, especially anyone she was interested in." He looked up. "I'm sorry."

"That's okay."

"Michelle knew about him, because they talked about him sometimes, and I got the impression he was older, and maybe she thought I wouldn't approve because of that. But I heard them a few times. I remember …" He stopped.

"Go on."

"No. It's stupid."

"Mr Tyler, nothing's stupid. Even a tiny little detail might help us catch your granddaughters' killer."

Tyler sniffed hard, and wiped his nose with the back of his hand. "It's just that, I remember her saying that she thought he might have a split personality sometimes. Most of the time he was fine, attentive, buying her flowers and such, then other times she said he was a real jerk." He almost smiled. "But I put it down to her, more than anything. She's not really like her sister. Sometimes it's so hard to get her to smile …" He stopped, realised what he said, and the grief hit him all over again. He seemed to crumple in on himself. "They were my life," he whispered. "Since my son and his wife were killed in a car crash, they were the only reason I kept going. When we realised Amanda was missing, Michelle was distraught. She was spending all her time just searching, and then when she didn't come home last night …" His voice caught and he couldn't go on.

Kate went down onto her heels in front of him, putting her hand on top of his. "Mr Tyler, I understand how you feel. Believe me. But leave it to us. I promise, we'll find him."

"Thank you."

"We'll be going now," Kate said quietly. "But if you think of anything that might help, please call me." She put one of her cards on the table next to the sofa, and stood up.

"Yes, yes, I will." Tyler managed to pull himself together enough to get to his feet. "Let me see you out."

"No, that's not necessary."

"Of course it is." This time he managed a small smile. "I was brought up to treat ladies properly."

Kate nodded, and allowed him to escort them to the door. As they stepped out into the cold, she asked, almost as an afterthought, "Did he ever get flowers delivered? The boyfriend."

"Occasionally. A few times."

"Who by, do you remember?"

"Cunningham's, at least the ones I saw. I guess the name stuck because I used to date a Wendy Cunningham."

"Thanks." She smiled and walked down the steps to the pavement.

"You didn't ask if they knew Merrick Canfield," Rick asked as they reached the car, both of them aware that Dominic Tyler was watching them from the stoop, his arms wrapped around himself.

"Neither did you." Kate unlocked the car and pulled the door open.

"True." Rick held up a finger. "Wait there." He jogged back towards the house.

"Castle!" Kate hissed, but he took no notice. After a few seconds he shook Tyler's hand and headed back. "Well?" she asked, her hands on her hips.

"They didn't know him."

"I could have told you that."

"But they knew of him." He opened the door and climbed inside.

She followed, her eyes narrowed. "And that's a distinction … why?"

"Because he used to give regular lectures at Juilliard."

"So?"

"So Michelle attended there. He might have … seen her, maybe with her sister … decided to have a little, I don't know, dalliance with Amanda, and it got out of hand."

"Out of hand."

"A sex game gone wrong."

"And Michelle was involved how, exactly?"

"Maybe she walked in on them."

"So he killed Amanda, kept Michelle someplace while planning to rob the Waldorf. Good plan." Kate sighed heavily. "Look, Castle, I've given you a lot of slack over this case, but we don't have the time to go after someone just because he trod on your toes."

"He didn't tread on anything of mine."

"Then why are you convinced he's involved?"

He tapped his nose. "Experience."

Her eyes narrowed, and she turned the key to the engine with more force than was entirely necessary. "I have two bodies lying in the morgue, a diamond necklace probably being taken apart as we speak, and a writer of lurid prose getting on my nerves, and I don't –"

"Lurid?"

She ignored the interruption, just spoke a little louder. "I don't have time to be chasing someone that there's no evidence for."

"And if I got you some evidence. You'd take a look at him then." It wasn't a question.

"Maybe." She pulled the car away from the kerb, seeing Tyler wave at them in the side mirror.

"All I'm asking for is a little encouragement here."

She glanced at him. He was doing the puppy-dog eyes. "Castle, you don't need any encouragement. I've discovered it doesn't matter what I say, you go ahead and do it anyway."

"Well, yes, there is that." He managed to look a little sheepish. "But I promise I'll get better. I stay in the car when I'm told, don't I?"

"Sometimes."

"Ninety-nine percent of the time."

"Maybe forty."

"Oh, come on, at least eighty."

"I'll grant perhaps … forty-five."

"Sixty?"

"Fifty. And that's my final offer."

"Great." He grinned. "It's a deal."

"What?"

"I'll stay in the car more often, if you'll look into Canfield."

She slammed her foot on the brakes, causing Rick to be thrown forward, hitting his nose on the dashboard. "What?" she demanded.

"Shit, Kate, did you have to do that?" Rick sat back in the car seat, his hand to his face.

"You should be wearing a seatbelt."

"I didn't know you were going to do an emergency stop!" He gingerly touched his nose, exploring it carefully. "I think it's broken."

"I doubt it."

"How do you know?" He glared at her. "I could be disfigured for life."

"You're not even bleeding."

"Might be internal."

Her eyebrows raised. "Internal?"

"It could be," he insisted.

"Here. Let me look."

"No." He moved out of reach. "You'll just be mean and tweak it."

"I promise I won't."

He didn't look convinced. "I don't know …"

"Castle, don't be such a baby." She grabbed his coat collar, pulling him towards her. Taking hold of his chin, she moved his head this way and that, studying the affected portion of his anatomy. "It looks fine. A little red, but fine."

"Red?" he almost squeaked, tugging his face from her hand and peering into the rearview mirror. "I've got a magazine layout to do in three days!"

"It's just red. It'll be fine by then."

"Since when were you a doctor?"

"Fine. Want me to swing by the hospital for you?"

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" he asked, glaring at her.

"A little. Maybe forty percent." That reminded her, and she poked him in the chest. "And what was all that crap about me agreeing to look into Canfield?"

"Can I report you for police brutality?" he asked, rubbing at the spot.

"No. You signed away all your rights, remember?"

"Seemed like a good idea at the time."

"Well, maybe next time you'll think twice." She went to poke him again, and he flinched. Dropping her hand and hiding a smile, she said, "We've got no evidence that Canfield was involved."

"What about your gut?"

"My gut has nothing to do with this. Good, solid evidence does."

"Then let me find you some." He glanced at his watch. "It won't take long. And they've just opened."

"Who have?"

"Humour me."

"I do that all too often."

"Then let me drive."

"No."

"Why not? My driving's a lot better than yours. Or are you scared?"

"Of your driving?"

"Of being proved wrong."

"Castle –"

"Half an hour. That's all it's going to take. Come on, Kate. Thirty minutes. What do you have to lose?" He'd forgotten his nose, and the look on his face was Eager No. 1, where he wasn't sure she was going to agree, but had a good reason for asking.

"My sanity?" she offered.

He knew he'd won, because Eager No. 1 became Smug No. 3. "We'd better get going," he said, gesturing forwards. "Or we'll get caught in the traffic."

"It's Sunday."

"It's also New York. When isn't there traffic?"

"I hope that's a rhetorical question."

His smile was warm. "Spoken like a true writer."

She groaned as she put the car into gear and moved off again. "So where are we going?"

"The Blue Cat club."

"But we know Canfield was on stage all night," she argued.

"Let's just talk to the main man, okay?"

"And who's that?"

"Drive."

She glanced at him, but he wasn't about to say anything else. Frustration warring with curiosity and losing, she shook her head slightly and pressed harder on the accelerator.

Behind them, in a non-descript brown Ford, their shadow slid into place, keeping a distance between the two cars, but not enough to lose them.