There were raised voices from inside the house, audible from the street as soon as they got out of the car.

"Does it ever occur to you there's something wrong with this picture?" Rick asked as they once more walked up the path.

"What are you talking about?" Only a fraction of Kate's attention was on him, the rest on trying to ascertain if Neidermann was likely to be a threat, particularly as he was an ex-cop. An ex-cop probably with a licensed gun and a severe case of grief, a really blisteringly bad combination.

"Racing across town like this, backwards and forwards." He needed to talk, to keep from wondering if the world had gone mad. "Why can't the bad guys come to us for a change?"

She glanced at him, just as she put her hand on the front door. "They do sometimes," she said quietly. "And then all you can do is hope you get them before they get you."

He swallowed. "Yeah."

She pushed and the door opened, the voices becoming that much louder.

"I've got proof, Mike!" Roy Montgomery was saying.

They stepped inside, Kate's hand very close to her weapon.

"Right." Neidermann was by the fireplace, staring at the photo of Keith in better days, resplendent in his football uniform. "What kind of proof?"

"Fingerprints. On the anonymous letters to Derek Jackson."

"That creep?" He scoffed. "He should have been put down at birth."

"I'll pretend you didn't say that, Mike. I know you're grieving, I can understand how you feel, but –"

Neidermann turned on him, his eyes full of fire. "You know nothing! You haven't lost a son, have you?" His hand clenched, and he thrust it against his chest. "You have no idea of the pain, the … it's like I'm on fire, and nothing I can do will put it out! You talk about grieving … try it, see if you can be so damn understanding then."

"You wrote the letters, Mike."

"So what if I did?" Neidermann took a step forward, and Kate tensed. "He sits there and makes money out of kids, Roy. Kids! Some of them are barely old enough to be out on their own, yet he serves them with booze and says it's okay to think about death all the time. And what do we do? Nothing!" His fingers opened, closed, trying to find something to throttle, and in the end he grabbed a glass vase full of dried flowers and threw it with all his might at the wall. It shattered into razor shards, clattering off furniture.

"We've never found him breaking the law, Mike." Montgomery was talking slowly, keeping his tone low, hoping to calm his friend. "Every time someone's complained, it's been checked. We've never found him serving alcohol to minors."

"And that means he doesn't do it?"

"Of course not. But we need proof."

"I didn't. I know what he's like." His eyes skittered to the old Bible. "He should burn in hell."

"Kate." Rick's voice, quiet and serious, drew her attention.

"What?"

He didn't answer, just moved the coats on the rack aside.

"Damn."

"Yeah."

There, tucked into the umbrella stand, was a baseball bat. Rick didn't touch it, knowing all too well the rules on chain of evidence.

Kate, on the other hand, pulled a latex glove from her pocket and tugged it on. Carefully, holding it a third of the way down so as not to damage any latent fingerprints or traces of DNA, she lifted it from the stand, keeping it away from the coats and contamination. "Looks like blood," she said, noting a staining on the wood, and something caught in the grain.

"Mmn." Rick shrugged. "Jackson said the man who attacked him seemed to be crying." He nodded towards the living room. "I can imagine him doing that. Knowing it was wrong, but not able to stop himself, hating himself even as he hit out."

"But Neidermann was a cop …"

"It doesn't mean they can't be overwhelmed by grief just as much as anyone else, Kate."

She nodded slowly, perhaps realising that he wasn't only talking about Neidermann, then turned from him and walked into the living room. "Sir." Kate spoke quietly, and surprisingly diffidently to Rick's ears.

Montgomery turned. "What?" His glare faltered a little as he realised who was standing in the doorway. "What is it?"

"We've just come from the hospital. Derek Jackson was admitted last night after being beaten up pretty badly. Probably with a baseball bat, the doctor said." She lifted her hand, showing him what they'd just found. "It looks like blood, and possibly hairs as well."

Montgomery turned back to Neidermann. "Mike?"

The man shook his head stubbornly. "I've got nothing to say."

Closing his eyes Montgomery let out a long, sad sigh. "Fine. Beckett, take him in."

"Don't you want to …?" Kate paused.

He tugged his jacket down a little. "No. I'm too close to this. You'll have to deal with it."

"Yes, sir." She took a second glove from her jacket and handed it to Rick, giving him barely enough time to pull it on before passing him the bat. He held it gingerly, not wanting to be accused of damaging anything vital.

As she extracted the handcuffs from her pocket, though, Montgomery said, "Don't. There's no need. Is there, Mike?"

Neidermann didn't respond, just crossed his arms securely over his chest, although Rick could see he was trembling slightly.

---

No-one said a word all the way back to the precinct, even Rick's normally ebullient personality having been subdued. In the squad room Kate handed the baseball bat to Esposito, with instructions to get it to Forensics ASAP, and set Neidermann to cool his heels for a while in the interview room.

Rick watched him through the two-way mirror, finding himself making mental notes on the man's posture, his expression, even the way there was a faint pulse in a vein across his temple. For a moment he was disgusted with himself, then, taking a deep breath and exhaling it slowly, he looked again, this time seeing a man who had lost a child, who was barely holding it together.

What would he be like if it was him in that cold, bare room instead? If something had happened to Alexis, but he didn't know who'd done it, had no-one to blame but the whole world? The mere thought had his stomach clenching, threatening to lose control of itself as he pursued it further. Would he want to lash out, damage anyone who might have been in the least bit responsible? His mind finally skittered away from it, but not before he fingered the cell phone in his pocket, wondering if he shouldn't perhaps call her, make sure she was okay. Not for any reason. Just being a dad.

The door opened and Montgomery came up behind him, not speaking for almost a minute. Then … "I've known that man most of my adult life. Going through the Academy together, working in the same precinct … we were as close as brothers. More. Damn it, I introduced him to his wife." He glanced at Rick. "He saved my life once, did you know that?"

Rick knew he wasn't supposed to answer, and just waited.

"Yeah, it was back when we were pretty much still wet behind the ears. Me and my partner were called to a disturbance, just a regular Saturday night fight in a bar. Mike and his partner were in the area, and they came as back-up." He almost laughed. "You know how these things are. Things went from bad to worse in the blink of an eye, and suddenly there were knives and …" Montgomery stopped, obviously seeing it again. "One of them got behind me, and I swear I could almost feel that blade tickling my kidneys when Mike took him out."

"A good friend."

"They should have given him a medal." Montgomery shook his head. "But I don't know that man in there."

Kate appeared in the doorway. "Sir, do you want me to wait until Forensics come up with something concrete?"

"Do you think it was him?" Montgomery asked in turn.

Kate glanced at Rick, then nodded. "Yes, sir. It's too much of a coincidence."

"I agree." There was an infinite amount of sadness in him as he went on, "Try and get him to confess. Explain that it'll go easier on him if he does. Although how any of this is going to be easy …" He shook his head and walked out.

"Ready?" Kate asked, looking at Rick.

"You know, I'm not sure I am." He'd never been scared to go into the interview room, seeing it as a challenge, an adventure, like watching a TV show really close up. But now …

Kate studied him, seeing the indecision in him, and her heart melted, just a little. She didn't have a daughter, or a child of any kind, let alone one near the age of the dead boy, but she could imagine what was going through his head. Even someone as purportedly shallow as him.

"You're staying outside anyway," she said firmly, throwing him a lifeline. "Neidermann's an ex-cop. This isn't going to be easy in the first place, and he's won't be wanting to talk in front of strangers. I'll take Ryan."

The relief hit him like a wave of cold water, and he smiled, just a little. Not a smirk, or one of his patented 'come to bed' grins, but something real. "Thanks, Kate," he said softly.

"Anything to get you out from under my feet for a while," she responded, but the look in her eyes said something different. Then it was gone, and she was back to her professional self, walking into the squad room and calling for Ryan.

---

Kate was right – it wasn't easy. Not in any way, shape or form.

Michael Neidermann denied attacking Derek Jackson, sitting back in his chair and glaring at the two detectives. Over and over again, his resolve so firm it was like talking to a rock. Back and forth, Kate and Ryan asked questions, but the answer was always the same.

Rick kept expecting him to ask for a lawyer, to demand representation against their harassment, their badgering, but all Neidermann did was sit there, arms folded, saying he didn't know what they were talking about.

More than anything, though, Rick admired the detectives' skill. He knew he couldn't have gone in there, asked those questions, pushed for answers, and all the while knowing that the man had just lost his son. It didn't matter whether it was murder, or just an accident, Neidermann was grieving, and Rick could feel it, like a presence in the room, huddling in the corner and howling.

"You can make this easier on yourself," Kate was saying. "We both know what's going to happen when the report comes back. Your fingerprints on the bat, Jackson's blood … and there won't be time for deals."

"I didn't touch him," Neidermann insisted. "But I wish I could shake the hand of the man that did."

Kate changed tack. "Why did you send the letters?"

Anger flared across the other man's features, leaving two red marks high on his cheeks, and he unfolded his arms, putting his palms flat on the table, as if about to lever himself to his feet. "You saw that place, didn't you?"

Kate nodded. "I've been there."

"He makes it out to be a game, just something to pass the time, but …" He slammed his lips together.

"But what?" Ryan prompted.

His glare should have caused the air between them to burst into flames, and for a moment Kate wasn't sure if he wasn't going to spontaneously combust, but the words finally spilled from his mouth. "It's ungodly!" he said in a rush. "These children being encouraged to believe in the undead, in spilling blood to live forever … it's sacrilege!"

"Is that what you told Keith?" This time from Kate.

"Yes!" Neidermann leaned forward, his hands gripped so tightly together that his knuckles were white. "Over and over, but he didn't listen to me. Just stared at me, as if I couldn't understand. But I did. I know he was hurting, that he was grieving for Liz, but to go there, to that place …" He swallowed. "I had to try. I had to do something. Jackson wouldn't even close after Liz died, said it was nothing to do with him, but I knew. I knew it was that man and his profanity, making vampires out to be nothing more than a fashion to be worn for a few days then discarded." He shook his head. "It isn't like that. It tarnishes their souls, and they're all so young."

"So what did you do?" Ryan asked.

"I told him. At first on the phone, then he wouldn't take my calls. I tried through the official channels, but they just looked at me like I was crazy. I didn't know what else to do. Keith wouldn't listen, he …" Neidermann blinked hard, half a dozen times. "So I sent the letters. I thought it might be enough, but … he laughed. I saw him, a few weeks ago, just after I'd delivered one. He opened it out on the street, and he laughed. At me."

"So you decided to attack him."

"No."

Kate lowered her voice another notch. "Mr Neidermann … Mike … you believe in God. You believe in goodness, in the words of the Bible, yes?" She could see the book in her mind's eye, lying on the table, its cover bent back, the pages showing sign of constant use.

"Of course I do."

"Then tell the truth." Kate was looking at him from under her eyebrows, not begging, or pleading, but trying to will the man to do the right thing. "That's what it says, doesn't it? Tell the truth and shame the devil. Mike, I know you're not a bad man. I know you've been through so much in the past year, that it would weigh down on anyone. Trying to help your son, wanting him to get better, to be the boy he used to be. Then losing him. I know how you must feel."

"You can't." The words were barely spoken, almost hissed at her.

"I lost someone. I know."

Rick held his breath. She didn't talk about it, about her mother, not to anyone, so she had to be feeling it was the only way to get him to admit anything to even ghost across it now.

Kate put her hand on the table, not touching Neidermann, but her palm down, fingers relaxed, almost as if she was reaching out to him. "Tell us what happened."

For what seemed like hours and was probably no more than a minute Neidermann didn't speak, didn't move, just stared at Kate's hand. Then he shifted slightly in his seat, the sound seeming to fill the interview room. "He killed Keith." It was as admission wrung from his soul.

"No, he didn't."

"Think what you like, but I know."

Kate sat back. "No, Mike. Derek Jackson has an alibi."

For a moment Rick knew Neidermann was shaken, saw the flash of something in his eyes like uncertainty, but it was gone as quickly as it had appeared.

"Alibi?" He threw the word away.

"Yes. He has witnesses for the entire evening. He didn't do it, Mike."

Repeating his name, Rick noted. Make him think you're his friend. Make him want to talk, to need to say what he wasn't saying.

Neidermann was glaring at her. "I don't believe you."

"We've got their statements."

He obviously gathered himself somewhat. "They must be lying, then."

"Mike, whatever else you think he's done, Jackson didn't kill Keith."

"Then he let it happen." Anger suddenly burned bright in him again. "Just look at him! At that place! Taking innocent young people and twisting their minds until they don't know up from down or black from white …"

Kate smiled sadly. "That's not something I can comment on."

"I can. And I did what I had to do."

That was it. Rick could feel the atmosphere in the room change, even through the mirror.

"You attacked him."

"Yes!" He almost spat the word. "And I'd do it again, if it would save just one life. Save just one family from going through what I'm …" Suddenly it was gone, all the anger, the hostility, and he broke down, covering his face with his hands as tears began to roll down his cheeks, shrunken in on himself.

Kate gazed at him, her compassion wanting to comfort him, her professionalism holding her back. "Mr Neidermann, Detective Ryan here will take your statement." She stood up, feeling little in the way of satisfaction.

As she turned to go, she thought she heard him whisper, "What have I done? God in heaven, what have I become?"

She walked out into the bull pen, and headed straight for the ladies room, resolutely not making eye contact with anyone.

"Kate?" Rick hurried after her.

"Leave it," Esposito advised.

"I can't."

The door to the rest room was closed, and in an uncharacteristically considerate gesture, Rick waited outside. It was only a minute later that Kate reappeared, obviously having splashed her face with cold water.

"You okay?" Rick asked, aching to put his arms around her, hold her so close that he could feel her heart beating, but knowing she'd never accept it.

She wiped at her mouth. "I'm fine."

"You've …" He waved at the droplets showing on her top.

Glancing down, she shrugged. "It'll dry."

"Are you sure it won't mark?"

"It's just a blouse, Castle."

"I could always buy you a new one."

She knew what he was doing, and for once was grateful. "Thanks, but no. I hate to imagine the kind I'd end up in, if I did that."

His lips curved, just a little. "Oh, I can imagine it. Pretty well."

Montgomery's voice drew them back to the present. "Is it done?" he asked from his office doorway.

"Yes, sir." Kate took a step towards him. "Ryan's taking the details now."

The older man sighed heavily. "I know it's grief, and maybe he didn't rightly know what he was doing, but …"

"A good lawyer might get him a reduced sentence," Rick put in. "Diminished responsibility."

"Yes." Montgomery nodded. "Yes. That's true."

"I can ask mine. He's a friend of mine, so I'm sure he'd … if you'd like."

Montgomery smiled, even if it was only briefly. "Thanks." He half-turned, then said, "Oh, I got a call from the Polish Embassy. You wanted to speak to Kazia and Jerzy Bazyli?"

"Yes." Kate was balanced on the balls of her feet, alert, ready again to jump back in the fray. "We think they can help with the break-in at the morgue, among other things."

"Well, you're going to have to find another way in. I spoke to an attaché, and basically there's no way they're going to allow you to interview either of them."

"But they're our only link to the crime," Kate began, but Montgomery held up a hand, stopping her.

"I know. And if you can get some more proof, tie them in somehow, I might have more of a chance. But the State Department is starting to take an interest, and I don't want to muddy the waters any more than I have to." He put his hand on Kate's shoulder. "Bring me something new and I'll see what I can do."

She exhaled. "Yes, sir."

"Good." He let go and started back to his office, then paused. Not turning, he said, "And thanks for looking after Mike."

"I had to arrest him, sir."

"I know. But you don't think he had anything to do with his son's death?"

"No, sir."

"That's … thanks." He stepped inside and closed the door, pulling the blind down and cutting himself off from everyone.

Kate turned, her eyes finding Rick's. "That's …"

"Yes."

Esposito coughed. "Um, boss, I hate to be the bearer of more bad news, but you've got a message from a Dr Trask."

Kate glanced at the clock, shocked to see it was already well into the afternoon. "What did he say?"

Esposito checked his notes. "He's spoken to his brother, but they can't find Peter."

"You mean he's gone missing?"

"He's supposed to be at his part-time job, but they haven't seen him for two days. They thought he was home with the 'flu."

"Is he?"

"No."

She put her hands on her hips and closed her eyes, her head dropping slightly. "Just once I'd like to catch a break," she breathed. After a moment she looked up. "Get the details and put out a BOLO on Peter Trask."

"What level?"

"Just a person of interest." She quickly added, "We just need to talk to him."

"Will do." He picked up his phone.

Kate walked to her desk, opening the bottom drawer, then slamming it shut just as hard. "Shit."

Rick perched on the edge of the table, dipping his head to try and look into her face. "We'll find some other way."

She glared at him. "Oh? Kazia's the only one we can even begin to identify. And I'm pushing it looking for Peter Trask."

"Then we go talk to her."

"We can't. You just heard the Captain. We can't go anywhere near the Bazylis. What the hell are you doing?" He'd slid from the desk and taken hold of her arm, pulling pulled her towards the corridor.

"Shush for a second, will you?"

"Castle –"

Rick looked around, wanting to make sure they weren't overheard, but there were too many people. The doors to the elevator opened and disgorged one of the lab techs, and making up his mind Rick quickly pulled Kate inside, waiting until they closed again before hitting the emergency stop button.

"Are you insane?" Kate demanded to know.

"It works for Gibbs," Rick explained, ignoring her look of confusion. "Just listen to me a second. Maybe you can't officially talk to the Bazylis, but I can. I've got an 'in', remember?"

"What the hell are you …" Realisation struck. "You mean Alexis?"

Rick nodded. "Alexis can ring Kazia up, make a study date. And when she turns up, we'll be there."

"No."

"Why not?"

"I'm not using your daughter like that."

"Look, I don't like the idea either, but if there's no other way …"

"What if she says no?"

"Then we'll … I don't know, camp outside the embassy."

"You do realise this would be totally unofficial? That anything the girl said would be off the record?"

"Won't it be anyway? All she'd have to do is claim diplomatic immunity and nothing she admitted to would be allowable in court." He moved closer. "Kate, you want to find out what happened. So do I. You want to find Keith's body. So do I. You want to arrest the murderer. So do … well, okay, that part I'll probably leave to you. But the point is we're at an impasse. If Alexis says no, then we'll do something else. What, I have no idea. But at least we'll have tried."

"You know there's no guarantee the girl won't just turn and run when she sees us? And we won't be able to stop her?"

Rick grinned, knowing she'd given in. "Let's just try it and see, eh, Katie?"

"Fine." She thumped the emergency stop button again, feeling the elevator start to move again. "And don't call me Katie."