Chapter 4

"Alex? Alex, can you hear me?"

Rodgers slowly picked up the phone from his lap. Person of interest? Murder? What does he, or rather Richard Castle, have anything to do with this? It doesn't make any sense!

"I'm sorry, you were saying?" Rodgers fumbled as he brought the phone back to his ear.

"You are a person of interest! I know you like to go all method for your stories but you're taking this too far this time. I get that you think you can hide under the 'Richard Castle' name but there's nothing I can do to keep you from the police. Alex … please tell me you didn't do this."

"I didn't! I don't even know what 'this' is! What did the police say?"

"Not much. Just that a body was discovered and for some reason, they believe it to be connected to Richard Castle. I bought you some time saying we can't release any information about you—lord knows how many people have tried to trick information out of us about the famous 'Rick Castle'—so we told them to come back with some kind of warrant for more information. But that's not gunna hold them off for long—this sounds like the real NYPD for Pete's sake! Alex, are you sure you had nothing to do with this?"

"Yes! I'm sure!" Rodgers didn't know how else to emphatically express that he had nothing to do with this murder. While he may kill people for part of his living, he never considered engaging in those acts beyond the pages of his novels.

"Alright, Alex. I believe you. I'm going to try my best to keep them from getting to you, but keep this as a heads up and be careful."

And with that, Gina promptly ended the call, leaving Rodgers sitting in stupor on his leather couch. He doesn't know how long he sat there trying to process what had happened but his daughter eventually poked her head into his study to check up on him. He quickly snapped out of it after that—he never wants to worry her unnecessarily—and even though she could tell something was up, she graciously gave him some privacy. Next thing he knew, Rodgers found himself relocated to his desk, searching up news of recent murders in the area. Given his estimated timeline (the murder probably occurred Sunday night if he was getting phone calls about it on Monday) and with his powers of deduction (there obviously has to be some connection to Richard Castle) the most he was able to find was this murder of an Alison Tisdale, daughter of Jonathan Tisdale, the powerful real estate mogul. Maybe he ought to pay that guy a visit?

Katherine Beckett, Detective, sat at her desk, sharp and early on this Tuesday morning. Yesterday was unproductive; she couldn't find a focus for the case at all after her road block with some hard-headed publisher. Even after she went to her haven for difficult cases, the NYU library, she ended up more distracted than if she were to stay in the bullpen.

Early on, she discovered that the old library was a great place to get away from the chaos that the 12th precinct could live up to be. Though she hasn't been to the library in quite some time, she still remembers the first time she stepped over its weathering threshold and antique doors, in an attempt to hash out the details of her first case. She always remembers the smell of the old books and dark desks; every time she reenters the space, all those memories come rushing back to rejuvenate her for her most recent case. And I guess I never kicked the habit after spending years studying in one as an undergraduate student.

As she's grown more experienced and accustomed to the push and pull of her weird freaky cases, she hasn't had the need to return to the inspiring library. But this case though … Alison Tisdale. She and her people are at a complete impasse and she can't seem to get any more information from their only person of interest—Richard Castle.

She knew the minute she laid eyes on the body of the deceased that her murder was an exact replica of the one painted in words by famed novelist, Rick Castle. If she was honest with herself, her excitement towards the case increased almost to the point of concern, where dead people are involved. But she kept herself in check and went about gathering the pieces necessary to build her case for the rest of that night. When Monday morning came and she connected this murder to Marvin Fisk, the small claims lawyer, she knew she had to get in touch with Mr. Castle.

It's not that she was didn't want to deal with the red tape of his publishers being difficult with his identity—she figured that might be the case but for her investigation she couldn't hesitate—she just wasn't sure if she wants to know the man behind the image in her head. For her, Castle has always had a special place in her heart; his novels had gotten her through some of the toughest times in her life. To have the mystery of this man revealed to her, she didn't want her idealized image of him spoiled—especially if it turns out he thinks he can be above the law and kill someone in cold blood.

But murderer or no, whether Castle plays a role in these killings or not, he was someone she would have to talk to. It was probably this back and forth she was having with herself that landed her in someone else's arm yesterday. She was too busy fretting over the significance of discovering her favorite author versus solving her case that she walked right into someone exiting the library she was trying to enter for a little solitude of mind.

The reflexes of the man surprised her. And his eyes. Those brilliant blue eyes. She must have lost herself in them for a moment because she wasn't quite aware she was being dipped by a stranger until the sound of doors opening and closing registered to remind her of her surroundings. In her embarrassment, she brusquely asked him to release her and the entire time afterwards when she stooped down to pick up the fallen objects of their tussle, she kept trying to sneak glances at him without him noticing. Their moment may have stretched to something more if he hadn't run off, mumbling something about his students? The man must've been a professor. And quite a young one, if his strong gait and still brown hair could speak for him.

For the rest of her time in that library, she spent pondering the encounter she had with the stranger with those iridescent blue eyes. When an hour was up and she made no further progress with her work, she resolved to push the anomalous incident from her mind and return home for some rest and a fresh start the next day.

And that is where she now sits. Fresh day and new start, but that man's blue eyes and cutely awkward word fumble returns to her mind. She hasn't had a man strike her in this manner in quite some time and she's at a loss for words with herself. Fortunately though, before she progressed to ripping out her hair from frustration with herself and her case, her captain managed to distract her with a request to go interview the father of their recently deceased, Jonathan Tisdale. Until she or her detectives can get more information about this mysterious Richard Castle, she has to break the news to a father who just lost his daughter and see if there's any information there that may lead them away from the novelist.