"I do not appreciate being dragged out of a warm bed just to find someone's stolen a corpse." Lanie Parish was not a happy woman.

"Whose?"

"Corpse?"

"Bed."

Lanie had to laugh. "Oh, wouldn't you like to know."

"You'll tell me eventually."

"Honey, I'd tell you now, but there are other folks ear-wigging."

Rick tried to blend into the background.

"I know what you mean," Kate said.

"You know, you can go ahead and talk," Rick said. "I'll put my fingers in my ears." He did just that.

"Don't be an idiot."

"What?" He'd raised his voice a little. "I can't hear you."

She tugged one of his hands away. "I said, don't be stupid."

"I thought I was being sensitive."

"You?"

"You know how to wound a man, don't you?"

"Years of practice." She turned from him back to her friend. "I'm presuming it's just Keith Neidermann who's missing."

Lanie nodded, stifling a smile. "There's three other lockers being used, but he's the only one that's walked."

"I hope you don't mean that literally."

"You mean did he rise from the dead and leave of his own accord? Somehow I doubt it."

"So do I." Ryan appeared from the gloom. "I've got the CCTV footage," he added, holding up a CD. "I've had a quick look, but it's pretty dark. There's a flash of a torch, a couple of figures, but that's about it. Maybe the techs can make it clearer."

"It's what they get paid for. So what happened?" Kate asked.

"The alarm went off, but before anyone could check it out whoever it was had gone. They only realised a body was missing at all because one of the night guards decided to run an inventory."

"Why would you have CCTV in a morgue?" Rick wanted to know. "I wouldn't have thought there was much call for the services of Burke and Hare nowadays."

"Because this isn't the first time the place has been broken into," Lanie said, surprising him. "Mostly it's kids out for a thrill, or druggies looking for a score. Not that we keep anything like that around, unless they really want to snort formaldehyde."

"I bet some of them try."

From the expression of disgust on the ME's face, it was obviously the case. "And as for the more formal bodysnatching? Not so much."

Rick was impressed that she had understood his cultural reference, but for a woman in her position perhaps he shouldn't be surprised. "So no selling body parts?"

"It happens," Lanie admitted. "Although not usually from places like this. Our security's normally too good." She glanced towards the empty locker. "Normally."

"Burke and Hare?" Ryan said in an aside to Kate, who shook her head. She understood too, but wasn't going to give Rick the pleasure of commenting on it. "Okay," the detective went on. "CSU will be here in a little while. There's something going on downtown so they're backed up a bit. But I'd say we're probably looking at gloves again."

Kate nodded. "I think you're right."

"Can't we have the lights on?" Rick asked, feeling something crawling up his total lack of spine. "In case we can see something important."

"No. Not until CSU have gone over the place." Kate looked at him. "Why, are you scared?"

"Me? No."

"You've been here before."

"In daylight. With people around. And fully lit."

"We're here." She stepped closer. "At least we outnumber the corpses. Just." She reached around surreptitiously and pinched his ass.

"Wah!" he yelled, nearly jumping out of his skin. Then he saw her face. "That's not funny, Kate."

"I thought it was." Kate smiled sweetly at him, seeing Ryan half turn away to hide his grin.

Lanie laughed, then had to quickly cover her mouth with her hand as she yawned. "So is there anything else you two love birds want me to do, or can I go back to bed?"

"Tox results on Keith's body?"

"Sorry, honey, but not so far. I checked before I left tonight …" She glanced at her watch. "Last night. If it's not ready by first thing, I'll stick a rocket under them."

"Anything I can do to help?" Rick asked.

"Not this time." Lanie yawned again. "If that's it then I'm leaving. If I'm lucky I'll manage to get a few hours sleep before he makes breakfast."

"He?"

She patted him on the arm. "Never in a million years."

"I'll find out."

"Then I'll get Kate to shoot you."

"So many friends …" Rick muttered, shaking his head.

"See you in the morning," Kate said, adding, "And give whoever it is my regards."

"Oh, I will." Lanie waved and disappeared through the swing doors.

"What exactly are CSU attending?" Kate turned to Ryan, who tried to appear wide awake and alert.

"Warehouse fire," he replied. "Only it looks like it was full of illegals."

"Bodies?"

"Lots of them."

"Was it deliberate?" Rick asked.

"It's the third in as many weeks."

Kate shook her head. That was the trouble nowadays, maybe even worse since the recession began to bite. Too many people still saw America as the land of milk and honey, streets lined with gold and a job on every corner, and were willing to pay to get there. Then they found the milk was rancid, the honey turned to grit and the gold so thin it blew away in the morning breeze. And too many were never seen again …

She caught herself. Morning breeze? Damn it, now I'm sounding like him, she thought, disgust flooding her mind. Just like Castle.

"Not our case this time," she said shortly. "Not our problem."

The object of her affections looked at her oddly. "You okay, Kate?"

"Fine. I'm fine."

"O-kay."

To cover whatever her lapse had been, Kate said to Ryan, "Get that CD to the techs, and tell them to have anything they can pull off it ready first thing in the morning."

"Sure thing, boss." His face contorted as he swallowed a yawn of his own.

"Then make sure a uniformed is going to be around to let CSU in, and you can get to bed."

He grinned. "Now that's the kind of order I don't mind obeying." He hurried out before she could change her mind.

Rick looked at his partner. "What about us? Do we get to go to bed now?"

She glared at him, but kept her voice light as she said, "Well, I don't care what you're going to do, but I'm going home."

"What about my apartment?"

"No."

"But it's all ready."

"And I want my own bed." She buttoned her jacket against the cool night air. "Goodnight, Castle," she tossed over her shoulder as she walked out of the morgue.

He looked around at the shadows, the deep wells of darkness in the corners of the room, and worse, the small reflections of light from the steel tables, winking at him like little eyes …

"Kate? Kate!" He hurried to the doors, away from his over active imagination. "I don't have transport …"

---

He knew he wouldn't make it in before she did. There were times when he truly believed she preferred the squad room to her own place, finding something restful in the controlled panic that sometimes ensued. Not that he was in the best of moods at the moment. By the time he'd got back into the fresh air, he'd just been in time to see Kate waving to him as she drove away, and it had taken ages to flag down a cab.

She was sitting at her desk, poring over reports, her dark hair tucked behind her ears.

"Katie."

She didn't look up. "Don't call me Katie."

"Thanks."

"What for?"

"Leaving me high and dry last night."

"You're a grown man."

"That's not the point."

"You don't appear to be damaged in any way, so you must have got home in one piece."

"How would you know? You haven't even looked at me."

She lifted her head, her grey eyes checking him up and down. "All of you seems to be present."

"I could be lying in an alleyway right now, my lifeblood oozing from my veins …"

"You're not, so sit down." She went back to her report.

"I'm beginning to think you don't love me," he said, lowering himself into the chair.

"You're right, I don't." She tapped the document. "CSU finally got to the morgue, and this is their prelim. As we thought, no prints, no usable DNA." She finally cracked a smile. "They've added a note at the bottom requesting that next time there's a murder, can we make sure it happens in the morgue, as it's so much easier to process."

Rick felt his annoyance slide away at her good humour. "Eye of the Storm."

She looked up at him, the smile still on her face. "I'd forgotten that. One body hidden among many."

"Just the one this time," Rick pointed out. "Any sign of Keith?"

The smile dimmed. "Not so far."

"This might help." Ryan hurried in from the direction of the tech labs, a file in his hands.

"The footage?" Kate asked.

"The very same." He spread the prints out across an empty desk. "It's the best they could do."

"Better than nothing." Kate studied the slightly grainy images of two people wheeling something through the frame. "Black hoodies, pants, gloves. No wonder there's nothing usable. And they're keeping their faces away from the camera."

"Both slim. Two boys, maybe," Ryan added.

"Or a boy and a girl." Rick tapped one of the photos. "Either I'm seeing things or that's blonde hair."

Kate looked closer. It certainly appeared to be a flash of pale hair at the edge of the hood covering his/her head.

"Kazia?" Rick suggested. "She's blonde."

"So are half the women in this city."

"Not half. Maybe a quarter. After all, you're a brunette, Alexis is a redhead –" He stopped at her glare. "But I get your meaning. No proof it's her. Although she could pass in a crowd for a boy." He indicated a female shape with his hands. "No figure."

Kate shook her head. "Still not enough." She exhaled heavily. "There's no way we'd be able to even get to talk to her, not on this evidence, even if her parents didn't work at an embassy."

"Are we sure it was them?" Ryan asked. "Maybe it was the murderer, afraid we'd find some evidence on him."

Rick got there first. "If it was Kazia, maybe it's because they believe Keith is going to rise again."

"Become a vampire?" The detective couldn't have looked more sceptical.

"It's the only thing that makes sense."

"No, it's not," Kate disagreed. "There are lots of things that … okay, they don't make sense, but nothing about this case does."

"And it doesn't mean that the girl wasn't involved in the murder," Ryan argued. "Maybe she got scared."

"Maybe. But if the murderer was worried about evidence, why leave the body where it would be found in the first place?" Kate countered. "There's plenty of other dumpsites, methods of disposal. Why leave the body posed like that?"

"Posed?" Rick sat up. "Interesting choice of word."

She shook her head. "Just a word. Don't read anything into it."

"No, but –"

"Castle."

He subsided, but that didn't stop his mind from taking the image and the word into his little mental workroom, where it could be pondered, poked and pried at until he had the truth from it. He almost smiled at the alliteration.

"Boss." Esposito hurried into the bull pen.

"What?"

He held up a wedge of papers. "Polidori's membership list." He fanned them out, laying them over the CCTV pictures. "The warrant finally came through."

"Just how many of them are there?" Kate asked, staring at the small print.

"At last count, some thousand and fifteen."

"Fourteen," Rick murmured, but nobody took any notice of him.

"Maybe half are active," Esposito went on, "but the others still pay their membership fees."

Rick let his fingers appear to idly move the sheets around, until he could quickly scan the 'C's.

"She's not on there," Kate said quietly, her lips curved.

"Just checking."

"I thought you trusted her."

"I do." He looked into her eyes. "Okay. Now I feel guilty."

"Good."

"I don't get it," Ryan said, thumbing through some of the pages himself. "There are kids from some of the city's most prestigious families on here. Lots of money. I mean, why would they need to be part of this whole vampire thing as well?"

"Money doesn't buy happiness," Kate pointed out.

"But it does buy psychiatrists." Montgomery stepped from his office. "Mike Neidermann's given his permission. You have an appointment to speak to Dr Elliott Trask in an hour."

Kate grabbed her jacket even as Rick got to his feet. "His office?"

"Yes." Montgomery's face was set. "Don't waste it."

---

Trask's office was exactly what they'd expected, all thick pile carpet, neutral colours, bookshelves from floor to ceiling lined with worthy tomes along two of the walls. Behind the desk was a large picture window, looking out over a small park, perhaps designed to show those who came needing his services that there was something to live for after all, while the other wall was graced with an abstract painting in muted tones of grey and green.

Elliott Trask, too, looked like what he was. Somewhere in his mid-forties, he had a receding hairline and glasses, while his clothes were expensive but subdued.

"Detective Beckett?"

"Yes. And this is Richard Castle."

"Are you a police officer too?" Trask asked, shaking hands.

"He's a consultant," Kate said quickly, enjoying for just a fraction of a second the possibility that here was a man who'd never heard of Rick Castle, and wondered what life would be like if that was the case with her.

"Fine." Trask motioned them towards two comfortable armchairs, then retreated behind his desk. "Michael Neidermann has asked me to be as honest as possible with you about his son, but you have to understand, if your questions impinge on any of my other patients, I won't be able to answer you."

"Doctor/patient confidentiality." Kate nodded. "I understand."

"But as long as we stick to Keith, I'll try to be as forthcoming as possible." He steepled his fingers in front of his mouth.

"Thank you." She settled back in the chair, wondering idly if it was designed to be this comfortable to make people drop their guards. "What can you tell us about him?"

"I started to see Keith on a regular basis in July last year. His father was increasingly worried about him, and spoke to his school who recommended my services. He arranged for the sessions, generally once or twice a week."

"And what was your diagnosis?"

"Do you want it in technical terms?"

"Preferably not."

"Then I'll just say that he was severely depressed following the death of his girlfriend, and was finding it difficult to pull himself out. His father thought I might be able to help."

"Did you?"

"We … were making progress."

"That's not very specific."

He leaned forward, clasping his hands together on top of the old-fashioned paper blotter. "You have to understand, psychiatry is not an exact science. I can't take on a patient and say, hey presto, in three months you'll be cured. Some people have been coming to me for years, and will continue to do so, just so they can function in normal society. Others find one or two sessions is enough, just by talking things out with someone who isn't their family."

"Which was Keith?"

"Unfortunately, one of the former. I always got the impression that he was humouring me." He shook his head. "Detective Beckett, half the battle is won because the patient wants to get better, that it's their choice. But Keith made it clear he was coming because his father insisted."

Rick saw Kate nodding out of the corner of his eye, and wondered why. Something else to put on the question side of the list, to maybe ask about at another time.

"But he was an adult," he pointed out, dragging his attention back to the conversation. "He didn't have to come if he didn't want to."

Trask shrugged slightly. "He loved his father."

"Were there problems at home?" Kate asked.

"I can't answer that."

"Did Keith think there were problems at home?"

"His father didn't like some of his interests, if that's what you're getting at."

"Like being a member of Polidori's."

"Yes."

"Did he talk about it much?"

"Hardly at all. The few times he mentioned it, he seemed amused by the goings on there."

"Yet he joined."

"I gather Elizabeth had been a member. It was his way of still being close to her."

"Were you worried about him going there?"

"I tried to talk to him about it, but he was very tight-lipped. I came to the conclusion that it was just a phase, something he needed right then to help get over the past, but that it wasn't likely to be harmful." Trask looked a little shamefaced. "All young people go through phases. Most of them get through them without recourse to psychiatry."

"Did he mention any problems he'd been having? Perhaps with other members?"

"No. Nothing like that. He never mentioned names. Besides, although he'd lost a lot of weight, he still knew how to take care of himself, if he had to."

"With violence."

"Not necessarily. Keith was a very … erudite young man. He could put across his ideas quite well. I imagine he would have been able to talk himself out of any situation."

"Not this one."

"No."

"What medication did you have him on?" She had her pen and pad ready.

"Keith was on antidepressants. Fluvoxamine, to be precise."

"Was he taking them?"

"He said he was."

"And you believed him?"

"He was generally truthful. I didn't see a reason to think he was lying."

"What are the side effects?" Rick asked. "I mean, all drugs have them."

"Insomnia, anxiety, decreased appetite, lack of sexual performance … there are others."

Rick was surprised. "You give tablets that cause anxiety to someone who's depressed?"

"Not everyone experiences all of the side effects, Mr Castle. Some people have no problems with them at all."

"What about Keith?" Kate asked, taking back the initiative.

"He … a few." Trask went on quickly, "But he was getting better. I would swear to that."

"His journal suggests otherwise."

Trask showed more life than he had the entire interview. "You found a journal?"

"Yes," Kate said. "Why?"

"He always told me he wouldn't." Trask waved his hand. "It's common practice to encourage a patient to keep a diary, to make a note of their feelings, their innermost thoughts. Then we go over the results at each session, see if there isn't something we can deal with right away, or that might need further work." He shook his head. "Keith refused."

"This seemed more …private."

"Can I … can I see it?"

Kate raised one eyebrow. "It's evidence, Dr Trask."

"Oh, I understand that. But perhaps later …"

"Why?"

He took off his glasses and rubbed them on the lining of his tie, an unconscious movement that left him looking weak and vulnerable. Sliding them back on, he focused on her. "Detective, I wanted to help Keith. I thought I was. Our last few sessions seemed to be more positive, as if he was finally seeing the light at the end of the tunnel. I want to assure myself it wasn't the oncoming train, and that I hadn't failed him."

"You think he was suicidal?"

"At first, but recently … he was talking about other people, not just Elizabeth. No names, as I said, but friends."

"Like your son."

"My …" Trask looked confused. "I'm not married."

"Peter?"

"Oh, you mean my nephew. My brother's son." He sat forward. "But all Keith's friends were … Peter's a member of Polidori's?"

"You didn't know?"

"No. No, I didn't." An expression of unease crossed his face.

"It seems to worry you."

"No. Not …" He stopped and looked at her. "A little."

"But all young people have their phases."

Hearing her repeat his own words back to him made Trask scowl before he caught himself. "You're right, of course. I am concerned. Perhaps I did gloss over the club with Keith, thinking that if I could help him defeat the depression, the need to go there would diminish with time. I should have realised."

"Realised what?"

"That it's always more difficult when it's someone close to you." Whether Trask was talking about Keith's loss of Elizabeth, or his own nephew, was unclear.

Kate chose not to pursue it, instead saying, "We'd like to speak to Peter."

"Of course." Trask shook himself. "I'll call my brother. Will this afternoon be soon enough?"

"That will be fine." Kate closed her pad and slipped it back into her jacket pocket. "Dr Trask, one last question. Where were you two nights ago between the hours of 7.00 pm and midnight?"

He looked affronted. "You don't think I had anything to do with Keith's death, do you?"

"It's a routine question. Just to eliminate you from our list."

Trask subsided a little. "I was at a formal dinner, in mid-town," he said. "A fund-raiser for the Metropolitan, hosted by the Mayor. Plenty of people saw me. Unless you consider his Honour would lie?"

"As I said, Dr Trask, just routine."

---

"That must have been annoying," Kate said as the elevator doors closed in front of them. "Actually talking to someone who'd never heard of you."

"Oh, he'd heard of me." Rick had his hands clasped behind him, and was rocking slightly on the balls of his feet.

"No, he hadn't."

"You didn't look at his collection of books."

Her heart fell, just a little. "Are you saying –"

Rick nodded, trying to keep the smirk from his face and failing miserably. "Bottom shelf, closest to his desk. Gathering Storm, Storm Warning, Eye of the Storm … all my best work."

"Then why did he …" She stopped, then answered her own question. "To wrongfoot you."

"Psychiatrists hate talking about patients," Rick said. "I should know."

"Why? When did you ever see one?" Her eyes lit up. "Or have you? Professionally speaking?"

"Only for research," Rick insisted.

The doors opened and they walked out into the lobby.

"Research? Like I believe that. You're the perfect case for some of these high-charge doctors."

"Why, thank you, Kate." He grinned. "No, honestly. I'm quite happy in my own skin, but I went to one once, when I was planning on Derrick Storm having a breakdown and coming across a murder, but not knowing if it was all in his head or not."

"And what did they say?"

"Oh, no." He shook his head firmly as they reached the sidewalk. "Doctor/patient confidentiality."

"You don't need to tell me. I can guess. Peter Pan complex, emotionally immature, inability to deal with real life …"

"Kate, it's just like you were there."

She smiled. "I'm surprised they didn't want to lock you up and throw away the key."

"Maybe they did. And I'm really an escaped mental patient …" He advanced on her, his hands reaching out as if to wrap themselves around her throat.

She ducked under his embrace and opened the car door. "That I can believe." She slid into the driver's seat.

Hurrying around to the passenger door, he climbed in. "It's all my mother's fault, you know. Every single one of my little idiosyncrasies."

"I'm going to tell her you said that."

"Don't." He put a pleading note into his voice. "I couldn't bear to be beaten again."

She couldn't help it. She laughed. "You really are an idiot."

"Glad you noticed." He flicked his eyebrows at her.

"Anyway, I don't remember that plotline coming up in any of the Storm books," she said, starting the engine.

"I abandoned it. Too close to home."

"I think it's more likely that you couldn't think of a suitable Storm-related title for it." She pulled into the stream of cars.

"You know me too well."

"You keep saying that, and I'll be insulted."

He smiled at her, just a trifle sly. "I'm considering dusting it off for Nikki Heat, though."

"Don't even think about it."

"Why not? Nikki, in the throes of tormented sexual tension, goes to pieces on a case, and has to –"

"Castle. I'm warning you –" Kate's cellphone ringing interrupted her.

"Want me to get that?" he asked, reaching for her pocket.

She swatted his hand away. "No." Keeping an eye on the traffic, she managed to wriggle the phone out. "Now you can answer it."

He grinned and flipped it open. "Kate Beckett's phone."

"Rick?" It was Ryan.

"The very same."

"Are you on your way back?"

"We are."

"Put it on speaker," Kate ordered. He did what he was told, and she leaned forward a little. "What is it?"

"You might want to take a detour," Ryan said. "To the hospital."

"Why?"

"Someone's done a number on Derek Jackson. He's in intensive care."

"Which one?"

"Sending you the details as we speak."

There was a small buzz and the address of the hospital appeared. Rick held it up so she could see.

She nodded. "On our way." Her eyes flicked from side to side, seeing a break in the cars just ahead.

Rick closed the phone down, then looked at her expectantly. "Kate?"

"Fine."

He grinned and pressed the switch, the sound of the siren filling the air as she did an abrupt U-turn and headed in the opposite direction.

---

Jackson looked almost as pale as the sheets tucked neatly around him, as the plaster on his arm held up by a series of pulleys. A bag dripped something into his veins, while a monitor beeped regularly. Butterfly sutures dotted the cuts on his forehead and cheeks, but nothing could hide the bruising around his eyes and neck.

"Who did this?" Kate asked.

Jackson tried to shake his head but it hurt too much. "I don't know," he managed to say, his voice rough from the mauling it had taken. "Didn't see. Came up behind me, hit me." His one open eye closed for a moment, as if he was reliving it. "I think he wanted to kill me."

"Can you tell us what happened?"

"I … already told the other officer."

"I know, but it's better if we hear it from you."

"Coming out of the club. I was walking to my car, someone hit me. Dragged me into … I think it was the lot."

Kate nodded. It was where the paramedics found him. "Go on."

"Kept hitting me. I couldn't defend myself." He glanced at his arm. "Felt the bones break," he whispered.

"It's okay," Rick said. "You're safe now."

"Did you see anything at all?" Kate wanted to know. "A shoe, a logo, anything that might give us a lead."

"No." A tear forced its way from under a swollen eyelid. "All I wanted was for it to stop."

"That's enough." The doctor stood in the doorway. "I told you a minute. You've had that."

"Of course." Kate nodded, then looked back at Jackson. "There'll be an officer outside the door, in case you remember anything."

He nodded sadly, already going back inside himself.

"Come on," she said to Rick, heading for the door.

"Detective …" Jackson's voice broke as he called.

"What is it?"

"Don't know if it … it means anything, but … he was crying."

"Crying?"

Jackson didn't respond.

As Kate and Rick headed for the nurse's station to talk to the doctor, a tall, impeccably dressed man pushed past them, going directly into Jackson's room. He looked worried.

Rick looked at Kate. "Is that –?"

"Mmn."

"I honestly had no idea he was gay."

She poked him in the chest. "And you don't go telling anyone."

He looked hurt. "As if I would."

Kate glared at him, but didn't answer, instead hurrying to stop the doctor before he could go off and deal with anyone else. "What's the diagnosis?"

The doctor perused the chart still in his hand. "Broken ribs, wrist, arm, fingers, heavy concussion, bruising to the throat, major organs … at a guess I'd say it was a baseball bat. Mr Jackson is lucky."

"You call that lucky?" Rick said, his eyes wide.

"Very. He seems to have a hard head, but one more blow and you'd have been arranging his funeral."

"Is he going to be okay?" Kate asked.

"Eventually." He looked past them to where someone had attracted his attention. "Sorry, I have to go. More patients to see." He hurried off.

"He was right," Rick mused. "Somebody was trying to kill him."

"I'd say they were probably interrupted, otherwise they'd have succeeded."

"Does this take him off your list of suspects?"

"No." Kate nodded slightly at the uniformed officer standing outside Jackson's door. "All it means is that someone had issues with him."

"The same issues?"

"That's something we'll have to find out."

"At least we'll know where he is."

"There is that."

They started towards the exit, then Kate's cellphone rang. Slipping it from her pocket, she thumbed it open. "Beckett."

It was Lanie Parish. "Honey, the tox results finally came through."

"Tell me."

"Hold on," Rick said as he saw a nurse glare at them, then look pointedly towards the sign that said 'No Cellphones'. Rick gave her his patented Castle smile, then quickly steered Kate along the corridor, trying doors until he found one open. It appeared to be a linen closet, just enough room for the two of them if they didn't want to do anything crazy like tango. He pushed her inside and closed the door, enclosing them in comparative darkness.

"Okay, go ahead," Kate said, making sure the speakerphone was on.

"Where are you? You sound like you're in a cupboard. Are you finally getting it on with our mystery writer?"

Kate felt a blush graze her cheekbones, and was very, very glad she couldn't see much of Rick's triumphant look. "What do you have, Lanie?"

"Tox results. Finally. I had to go down there and stand over them while they finished, but … there's nothing."

"No drugs?"

"No drugs, no anaesthetics, nothing. I'm sorry, but whatever happened to that boy, he was awake."

Her eyesight adapting to the small amount of light coming from her cell, Kate could see Rick looking appalled. "He knew what was happening?"

"I'm afraid so."

"What about ..." She couldn't remember the name of the medication, and glanced at Rick for help.

"Fluvoxamine," he supplied, his writer's memory pulling it out for her.

"The antidepressant?" Lanie sounded surprised. "No, nothing like that. Should there have been?"

"Yes."

"Lanie, how long does it take to work out of the system?" Rick asked.

"Two, maybe three weeks until there'd be no sign."

Kate stared at Rick. "About the length of time he was supposed to be getting better."

"You think he was under someone else's influence?" Rick suggested.

"What, you mean, hypnotised? Here, lay on this gurney while I pump the blood out of you?"

"It's possible."

"Rick's right," Lanie put in, her voice loud in that small room. "It is possible, if he was already suggestible, which could be the case if he was in withdrawal. I could check his hair, give you a better estimate for when he'd stopped taking his meds, but without the body …"

"I know." Kate took a deep breath and held it, only blowing it out when she had no choice. "Okay, thanks, Lanie. If you get anything else, let me know."

"I will." The connection went dead and the small light faded.

There was a moment's silence until Kate spoke again. "You really think someone persuaded Keith to let him do this."

Rick considered, trying hard to keep his mental processes on the case in hand, and not his proximity to Kate's warm body. "In his state of mind? I think it's … yes, possible."

"Why?"

"To live forever."

"Without his girlfriend?"

"Perhaps."

"We know he was obsessed with death," she pointed out.

"Yes, but vampires aren't."

"What do you mean?"

"Kate, think about it. Vampires are all about overcoming death, not welcoming it with open arms. To live forever, to gain the immortality that allows you to transcend corruption …"

"Castle, you have to stop Googling."

"Laugh if you want, but you know what I mean. If someone told you, promised that nothing would ever hurt you again, that you could make everyone stay with you forever …" He paused. "It would be tempting, especially for someone already depressed."

"Then we're back to someone at Polidori's, maybe Jackson."

"Or Kazia and co."

She shook her head. "We need to speak to them."

Rick felt around for the handle, and opened the door just as her phone rang again. He closed it quietly. "Hey, I don't mind staying in here all day," he murmured as she took the call, his lips curving as he added, "I just love the company."

She ignored him. "Beckett."

"We got a hit on a couple of fingerprints on those anonymous letters," Esposito said, but he didn't sound too happy about it.

"What? What is it?"

"Forensics didn't get anything running it through AFIS, so they tried all the others, just to be thorough. They got a hit from the police database. Boss, you're not going to believe who it is."

Kate closed her eyes. "Michael Neidermann."

"'Fraid so."

"Does the Captain know?"

"I … yes. He was here when the results came through."

"Is he there now?"

"No. He left straight after."

"See if you can locate him, but I think I know where he's going."

"Neidermann's?" Rick asked softly.

Kate nodded.