Kate made short shrift of the run to the Neidermann house, but even as she pulled up she could see Montgomery's car outside.

"They were cadets together," she'd explained. "In the Academy. Got assigned to the same precinct, the same shift … Montgomery was best man at his wedding."

"I didn't realise."

"It was the Captain who pushed for us to look for someone else in the Rossi case."

"Would you have arrested Keith otherwise?"

For a moment Kate didn't answer, just squeezed the steering wheel a little tighter. "I'm not sure," she finally admitted. "The evidence was circumstantial, but –"

"Then you wouldn't." He turned enough in his seat so that he could look at her. "Other cops might be looking for a clean-up. You don't. You look for the truth."

"You've got this very honourable view of me, don't you?" she said, shaking her head, a rueful smile appearing on her face. "One of these days you might be sorely disappointed."

"Somehow I doubt it."

"Give it time."

"As long as you want, honey."

She threw him a glare, but that was all the comment she'd made. Now she climbed from the car, taking a moment to stare at the Neidermann house. "Every time," she muttered. "Every time I come here it's for something bad." She slammed the door closed, and walked up the inclined path between well-tended rose bushes towards the front door.

"How do you get used to doing this kind of thing?" Rick asked, following. "Telling people their loved one isn't coming home again."

"You don't," Kate said shortly. "And if I ever do, I'll know it's time to look for a new job."

The door opened, and Captain Roy Montgomery stood there. He looked slightly surprised. "I take it you broke almost every speed limit to get here," he said quietly.

"A few," she admitted.

"Thanks."

"You're welcome."

He pulled the door wider, letting them both inside. "I've told him, of course."

"How did he take it?"

"About as well as you could expect." He glanced over his shoulder, towards what appeared to be the living room through an archway. A man sat on the sofa, his head dropped between his shoulders, staring at the carpet.

"Sir … there are questions."

"I know." Montgomery nodded and went back into the other room. "Mike?"

Neidermann lifted his head slowly. "What?"

He indicated the others. "This is Detective Kate Beckett and Richard Castle. They're going to find out who did this to Keith."

"I remember her." Michael Neidermann looked her up and down. "From when Liz was killed."

"That's right."

"You going to kill the bastard that did this? That took my boy?" Neidermann asked, glaring at her. "Because that's all I want to hear."

Kate didn't react to the animosity in his voice, stepping forward and saying only, "I need to ask you a few questions."

Neidermann gave a humourless laugh. "I remember these kind of interviews. I used to do them when I was a cop. Did the deceased have any enemies? Had he argued with anyone lately? Was he on drugs, or any other illegal substance?"

Kate gazed at him evenly. "And what would you answer?"

"Keith was nineteen years old. He was a good kid. His mother died when he was eight. Cancer. One minute she was this wonderful, vibrant person, and the next she was … old. At least it was quick." He shuddered, and the others could see he was still mourning her as well. "I retired early, to look after Keith. I didn't want him farmed out to relatives, or strangers, so I …" Again he gave the same dry, dead laugh. "Maybe I should have. Maybe they'd have been able to keep him safe."

"Mike, Keith was a credit to you," Montgomery said quietly.

"And I still let this happen."

"You did what you could."

"It wasn't enough. If it was enough he'd be upstairs right now, and not …" He couldn't go on.

Rick felt more than a little uncomfortable. He'd been with Kate on lots of occasions when she'd talked to relatives of the victims, and he'd always appreciated her ability to get information out of them. For a moment he wondered why she wasn't doing that now, wasn't sitting down, leaning forward, her body language telling the other person that here was a woman who wanted to know, who would listen, whose promises to bring the man who'd done this to justice would be honoured.

But … and that was the crux. But Neidermann was an ex-cop, and he knew all the tricks. Not that Kate tricked anyone, although she'd never admit she let her guard down to show the real Katherine Beckett underneath the armour.

"Sir …" Kate spoke again. "When did you last see Keith?"

Neidermann pulled himself together a little. "Yesterday. He was on his way to school. We actually talked for a while, and he seemed … happy."

"Why wouldn't he be?"

Neidermann looked at her, an expression close to hate in his eyes. "He'd been having problems, ever since you accused him of killing Liz."

"It was her job, Mike," Montgomery got in before Rick could leap to her defence.

The hate faded, and his head dropped again. "I know," Neidermann murmured. "I just can't …"

Montgomery rested his hand on his friend's back, then got up, motioning to the other two to follow him back into the hallway. "Take a look in Keith's room, see if there's anything that might help, then go on back. I'll stay with Mike, bring him along to identify the … to identify Keith when he's ready."

"Sir –" She wanted to tell him they hadn't got the answers they needed, about enemies, friends, and everything else in between.

"No, Kate. I'll do what's necessary." He glanced at Rick, standing back. "Keith's bedroom is upstairs. First on the left."

Rick nodded and started up, feeling rather than hearing Kate eventually follow him. The door wasn't difficult to find. It was painted black, with a prominent 'KEEP OUT' sign above the handle. "Any guesses as to what'll be inside? Cobwebs? Bats? A coffin, maybe?"

She understood his need to fall into flippancy, even if it was entirely inappropriate, so didn't allow herself to snap back. However, she did say, "Respect, Castle."

"Yeah." He opened the door.

The room faced south, getting the sun most of the day, and a glowing rectangle lay on the floor, trying to push back the gloom. In truth, it wasn't really that gloomy, but the colour scheme wasn't exactly friendly, with an unhealthy reliance on black, with black counterpoints and little touches of black just as relief.

Kate sighed as she took it in. When she'd had to tell the Rossis about their daughter, she'd been shown her bedroom, and it was pretty much like this. All the soft toys had been packed away in cupboards, every single little bit of girl frippery taken down as if it had never existed.

"What are they?" Rick asked, pointing to black posters on the black walls. In response Kate switched on one of the table lamps, and he could see faint images in bright colours appear. "UV?"

She nodded. "Secret. Hidden."

"You know, if Alexis ever turned around and said she wanted to do her room up like this, I'd be reaching for the phone book for a therapist."

"Pyjamas?" Kate reminded him.

"This isn't the same."

"It's still an obsession."

"You say that like it's a good thing."

"Obsession never is." She spoke like she understood.

Rick wanted to push, to ask how come she seemed to know all about obsession, but mindful that he needed all his limbs, and preferably in working order, he wisely decided against it. Instead he stepped into the sunlight and looked around.

"Feeling safer there?" Kate teased.

"Absolutely," he said, taking in all the details. The holes in the closet door where a basketball hoop probably once hung, the school shoes half under the bed, an overflowing laundry basket.

But it was the dressing table that drew the eye. Perhaps it had been his mother's, Rick surmised, but the boy had appropriated it, painted it so deep a purple that the mind got lost in it, then swathed the mirror in black gauze, wrapped over and around and tied with ribbons of the same colour.

He moved closer.

It was a shrine. There was no other way to describe it. Tall candles had burned halfway down, their molten wax frozen in the act of dripping down the sticks. A necklace, just a simple silver chain with a plain cross, hung from the corner, while a dozen dark red roses, their hue sucking any residual life out of the room, lay in front of the gold photo frame. The young woman in the picture was smiling at the camera, in what was probably a high school photo, the kind where it's a production line – sit, smile, snap, thanks. But she looked genuinely happy.

"Is this her?" Rick asked, not touching anything, not wanting to disturb the ghosts that gossiped around the display. "The face you remember."

Kate turned from the closet. She nodded. "Elizabeth Rossi."

"She looks … nice." It was a lame word, and he felt embarrassed the moment he used it, but Kate took it in its intended meaning.

"She was. No-one had a bad word to say about her."

Rick shook his head. "Why is it always kids?"

"Not always." Kate turned her attention to the bedside cabinets, finding the usual tissues, lubricant and porno mags in the one on the right.

"Quite a few, though."

"It's because they're vulnerable. You feel it more."

He looked at her. "I thought you thought I didn't have feelings at all."

"I don't think I've ever quite accused you of that."

"Last week. When we were bonding over that cold pizza at the precinct – and I still say you should have let me order in from Sardi's."

"The pizza was fine, and what I actually said was you were trying too hard to be shallow."

"Same thing."

"No, it's not. And the point I was trying to make was that the death of a young person … well, we see ourselves. What we'd hoped to be and perhaps never became."

"All that potential … it's such a waste."

She sat on the bed and studied him. "Right before I was forced to let you follow me everywhere, I had a case. It was a research scientist, a doctor, who'd been mugged and killed on his way home from work." She paused, but she realised she had his full attention. "He never carried much cash, or credit cards, so his killer got away with about seventeen dollars and change."

"That's sad, but I don't see –"

"He was working on a cure for diabetes. Not just a new treatment, but something that could eradicate it from the planet. His colleagues all said he was on the verge of a breakthrough, but he kept it all in his head. It was all gone. He was fifty-eight years old."

"Kate, I get it. There's no age limit on people's potential."

"Yes, but that's not what I'm getting at. His wife, his children … they couldn't have cared less about his potential. Or the cure. They just wanted him to come home, and that was never going to happen again."

"The human face."

"Exactly." She fidgeted on the bed, then bounced a couple of times.

"I have to say, that has the potential to be disturbing," Rick pointed out, watching parts of her move that usually stayed still. "Or erotic, I'm not quite sure."

She ignored him. "There's something …" She slid off the bed and went down onto her heels, feeling under the mattress, and coming out with a cloth-covered book, black naturally. She sat back onto the counterpane, opening it and scanning a few pages.

"A diary?" Rick asked, sitting next to her so he could read over her shoulder.

"More like a journal. Random thoughts, scraps, general notes …" She closed it with a snap and stood up. "We'll take it back, get a better look at it."

He got up as quickly as he'd sat down, and felt something twinge in his back. Perhaps he was getting old. Looking around the bedroom until his eyes finally lit once again on the shrine, he was sure of it.

Kate quickly finished checking the room, but apart from the journal there was nothing worth noting. She slid it into her pocket. "Come on," she said, walking out into the hall and back down the stairs.

She stopped, hearing voices from the living room. As Rick stepped down behind her, she put one finger to her lips, and they listened in to the conversation.

"He was depressed, I know that." Neidermann was trying hard not to break down. "But the doctor had worked … well, miracles."

"Doctor?"

"Elliot Trask. He's a psychologist. A psychiatrist. One of those. I don't really know the difference. The school recommended him. After Liz's death."

Kate made a mental note of the name.

"How often did Keith go and see him?" Montgomery asked.

"A couple of times a week. It's all I could afford." There was a heavy sniffing sound. "But it was working. The last month, Keith's been so much better. Happier. Like life had begun to mean something to him again." Another sniff, longer this time.

"Mike …"

"He was happy, Roy. Actually happy. For the first time in months, he was smiling, like I'd got the old Keith back again." There was a pause, and when the voice came again there was such pain it was like a physical force in the room with them. "Why would someone do this to him now, Roy? Why take him away from me when he was getting better?"

Rick put his hand on Kate's arm. "Come on," he said very quietly. "This is … I feel like we're intruding."

"It's a murder investigation, Castle," she whispered back.

"I know. But this is grief. And it should be private."

She looked into his blue eyes, as always surprised by his flashes of humanity, when the immaturity fell away to reveal the man beneath. "I suppose the Captain will fill us in."

"You know it."

She nodded, and followed him outside. As she was about to step through the door, though, she glanced back, seeing Captain Montgomery on the sofa next to Neidermann, his arm around the other man, giving what comfort he could. Rick was right – they were intruding.

---

Lanie Parish was writing up her reports when Kate stuck her head around the door.

"So what have you got for me?" the police detective asked.

The ME had left a message with Dispatch, asking them to drop by, and now Lanie smiled at her friend, glancing past her to the empty corridor. "Where's your shadow? You finally had enough and shot him? Only I know a nice quiet little spot in Central Park where we could bury the body and nobody would be any the wiser."

"He's waiting in the car."

"How did you manage that? What did you have to promise him?"

"I told him he could play with the siren on the way back if he was good."

"I'm surprised you haven't offered to buy him an ice-cream."

"That's next on the list."

Lanie laughed. "Why don't you just take the man to bed and be done with it, I don't know."

Kate almost smiled. "Because that would be too … complicated."

"So you've thought about it?" Lanie's eyes widened.

Kate sat down heavily in the other chair in the room. "I'm choosy, not dead."

"So you've wondered what he looks like naked?"

"No."

"Don't you lie to me. I know you."

"Lanie, I'm here on business."

"I thought this was. Because I've heard he can be all business, if you let him get down to it."

"Oh?" Despite herself Kate was curious, and leaned forward, her elbows on her knees. "Who've you been talking to?"

"Just a few friends. I do have them, you know."

Kate ignored the slight dig. "And what do these friends of yours say?"

"That he's a rogue and a scoundrel, that he'll say yes to just about any skirt that wanders his way, but if he ever thinks of you as a friend, he's yours for life."

Kate thought back to the case a couple of months ago, when she'd met Maggie Maguire, a true friend of Rick's. "You know, I can see that happening."

"And you're his friend." Lanie pointed at her with a pen.

"We're colleagues. That's all."

"You just keep telling yourself that." Lanie shook her head. "I suppose it's a start. Just promise me that when you get around to having wild, passionate sex, you'll tell me all about it."

"If that ever happens, I'll take pictures. Maybe sell tickets."

"I always knew you were an exhibitionist at heart. And I'll hold you to that."

"Fine. Now, can we please get back to the reason you asked me to drop by?"

Lanie sobered. "Yes. Keith Neidermann. Still no formal ID –"

"Captain Montgomery's bringing the father in to do that."

"So what I heard it right? They know each other?"

Kate nodded. "A long time." Her mind's eye went back a year, the pictures as fresh and clear as if it was yesterday. "When we were investigating Elizabeth Rossi's death, the Captain insisted Keith couldn't be involved. Not his godson."

"Godson?" Lanie repeated. "Ouch."

"Yes." She lowered her voice a little. "This one's pretty close to home, Lanie, so we have to do it right."

The ME nodded, her professional persona back in place. "Preliminary findings are that the victim was alive when his blood was drained."

"Conscious?"

Lanie shrugged. "I found a small puncture wound on the neck consistent with the use of a hypodermic. It's about the right place for someone to inject a local anaesthetic before attaching the tube, but –"

"You're saying he knew what was happening?"

"I'm not saying anything. Just giving you the facts. How you put them together is your job. I've sent a sample to tox, along with some of what's left of the blood. If I had to surmise, I'd say he was drugged beforehand. There's no signs of a struggle, no defensive wounds, nothing under the fingernails."

"It's still a gruesome way to go."

"Not really." Lanie sat back. "Severe blood loss like that, the body goes into rapid shock, basically shutting down. He'd have felt cold, then sleepy. He wouldn't have known the end when it came."

"But someone still killed him." Kate sat up. "How soon for the results?"

"I've put a rush on it for you, but they're pretty backed up. Maybe this evening. If you're lucky."

"Soon as you can, then."

"I'll keep chasing." She glanced down at the papers on her desk. "Anyway, apart from that, he was a healthy young man. A little on the skinny side, but otherwise normal."

"Did he …" Kate realised what she had been going to ask. "No. Never mind."

"What?" Lanie half-smiled. "Believe me, you won't be able to shock me."

"Fine." She cleared her throat. "Had he … been drinking blood?"

Lanie whistled. "Okay, that's about as close to shocking as you can get. Why on earth would you ask that?"

"He was a member of Polidori's."

"The vampire club?"

"That's the one."

Lanie clicked her fingers. "I thought that name you mentioned before sounded familiar. Elizabeth Rossi. Raped and strangled in the parking lot, wasn't she?"

"She was Keith's girlfriend."

"Oh, honey." Lanie looked troubled. "Those families have been through enough already, and now this?"

"I know."

"Do you think they're connected? Someone out for revenge, maybe?"

Kate shook her head slowly. "I don't see how. We got the man responsible, and he's in jail serving a long sentence."

"But that's why you asked about blood, wasn't it? To see if he'd maybe gone too far with this vampire kick."

"Maybe."

"Well, stomach contents were normal, as far as they went. A small amount of steak, rare, fries, and at least two glasses of red wine. But no blood."

Kate felt an odd sense of relief. "Good."

"And before you ask, there's none missing from his body either. We measured what was in the jars."

"That's … good." Kate stood up. "Anything else?"

"When there is, you'll be the first to know."

"Then I have to get back. Otherwise Castle might have started to tear up the car seats."

"Just so long as you make sure he gets a long walk and uses the litter box like a good boy."

A smile finally cracked Kate's face as she contemplated the mental image of Richard Castle on a lead. "Now that I would sell tickets to."

---

"You're thinking."

"What?" Kate glanced at Rick as they rode the elevator up to the squad room.

"You're thinking. I can tell. You always go quiet." The doors opened and he let her out first. "Me, I talk when I'm thinking. To myself, if there's nobody else around, or to my mother, or Alexis. Or you."

"I'd noticed."

He followed her inside. "Only it helps. Talking about it."

"What helps is letting me think in peace."

"Hey, I hardly said a word all the way back. And, by the way, you broke your promise."

"We didn't need the siren." Kate slipped out of her jacket and tossed it onto her chair. "Esposito."

The detective was standing by the murder wall. "Boss."

"Where are we?"

"Not much further on." He tapped the crime scene photos. "CSU says they can identify two people in that area plus the victim for sure, since the impressions in the dust weren't workboots, but that's about it."

"Two people," Kate mused. "One to restrain him, another to do the deed itself, perhaps." She looked at him. "No idea of height, age, weight?"

"Nope. No prints anywhere, so probably latex gloves. They're not holding out much hope on DNA either, although they've taken about a thousand swabs from every surface. They have said that if we can find the shoes, they're sure they can match them, but that's about it."

"It's a start."

"How did it go at Polidori's?"

"About as helpful as last time." Kate handed Esposito the evidence bag containing the anonymous letters sent to Derek – sorry, Oslo Jackson. "See if you can get anything usable off these."

He glanced at the printing. "Ah, threatening letters. How original." He headed off towards forensics.

Kate turned back to her desk to see Rick flicking through a couple of the files in her in-tray. She crossed quickly to him and slammed her hand down on his fingers. He cringed, his mouth opening in pain.

"Ow!"

"Private, Castle," she said, releasing him. "That's why it says confidential on the folder."

"Do you have to be quite so physical?" He nursed his hand against his chest.

"Yes."

His mood switched, as it often did, and he smiled. "There are other ways we could do that, Katie."

"Don't call me Katie." She sat down.

He checked his fingers over and dropped into the seat next to her. "So what next, Detective Beckett?" he asked formally, one eyebrow raised.

"The journal." She tugged it from her jacket pocket. "There might be something in here that Keith didn't tell his father. A clue to who killed him."

"We'll get him, Kate." Rick spoke quietly, just for her. "We'll get the bad guy."

"I know." Somewhere inside her, locked in the place nobody else knew about, another face joined all the others, and a promise for justice made. "I know," she said firmly.