Disclaimer: The only part of Castle that I own is the TV on which I watch the show.

The victim, dressed in jeans, sneakers, and a Yankees T shirt, is a few feet inside the chain link fence on a construction site in lower Manhattan. There are five living people grouped around the body—Beckett, Castle, Esposito, Ryan, and Perlmutter—at six-thirty a.m., not long after sunrise.

"John Doe," Espo says. "No wallet on him, no cell, prints aren't in the system, but the site manager might be some help. Thinks the guy looks familiar, so I'm gonna go talk to him now."

"Blunt force trauma, big time," Castle says, looking at the vic's crushed skull. "Must have killed him instantly."

"Ah, Mr. Castle, apparently you acquired a medical degree since last I saw you," Perlmutter says. "By correspondence course, I assume."

"Deductive reasoning, Perlmutter, especially given the gray matter oozing out of the back of the guy's head," Castle replies, with more than a touch of acid. "Not to mention the bat that a CSU over there is bagging and tagging."

Beckett shoots him a look. "Time of death, Perlmutter?"

"My best guess at the moment is four to five hours ago, but I'll—"

"Know more when you get him to the lab," Castle finishes for him.

"Castle," Beckett hisses. "Don't bait him. Could you go with Ryan and see about the bat, please? Since Espo is interviewing the site manager."

"Would it have taken a man to deliver a blow like that?" she asks the medical examiner, when it's just the two of them left standing by the body.

"Probably, given the force that was used, but it could have been a strong woman, especially since the victim is quite a small man. No defensive wounds, so he probably didn't see his attacker." Perlmutter looks around like a rat who is trying to decide if he should risk stealing a piece of cheese from a trap. His chronically dyspeptic expression softens as he looks at Beckett. "I realize that this isn't the most suitable moment or appropriate place, Detective, but I believe that congratulations are in order?"

Who'd a thunk it? Perlmutter? Congratulating her on her pregnancy? "That's so sweet. Thank you. We're very excited." She unconsciously rubs hand over her stomach.

"Oh, hi, Mom. You're up. When did you get out of bed? We're not at home, are we?"

Perlmutter, looking wildly uncomfortable, bends over the body and begins a close examination of the corpse's nose, which would be inhaling a vast quantity of dirt if its owner were still breathing.

Beckett leaves Perlmutter to his work and walks over to join Castle and Ryan, who are examining a bagged and blood-covered bat that is almost certainly the murder weapon.

"Beckett, you're going to love this!" Castle says. "Know what kind of bat this?"

"Looks a hell of a lot like a Louisville Slugger to me. You know, a baseball bat."

"Oh, are we at a baseball game? I finally get to go? It's about time."

"Not just any baseball bat, Beckett. Wait 'til you see the insignia. And the date, June first. This is from last year's Bat Day at Yankee Stadium. Free bats to all fans 14 and under!"

"I'm under 14! Do I get a bat?"

"Ah, so you're thinking that whoever did this was at that game last summer?"

"Right."

"So we should interview, what, ten thousand kids?"

"Well, no, but you have to admit that this narrows down the field, especially since we haven't IDed the guy."

"That's good, Dad. The field! Like a baseball field."

"And another thing. Where are we?"

'What?"

"Aren't we at the game?"

"What is the multi-lane road, currently clogged with early-morning traffic, on the other side of this construction yard?"

"The West Side Highway," Ryan answers tentatively, knowing full well that it is, but also fairly sure that this might be a trick question.

"Right but wrong," Castle says. "We all call it the West Side Highway, but officially it's the Joe DiMaggio Highway. You don't think it's a coincidence that a guy in a Yankees jersey is killed with a limited-edition souvenir Yankees bat next to a street named for the Yankees' Hall-of-Fame center fielder?"

"He's got a point, Beckett," Ryan says.

"He does. You're right, Castle. It can't be a coincidence."

"Maybe it was a Mets fan," Castle says.

Beckett is mulling something over. "Red Sox fan."

Castle smiles. "That's true, because no one hates a Yankee fan more than a Red Sox fan. You wouldn't believe what comes out of her mouth when the Yankees are playing Boston, Ryan."

"Something comes out of your mouth, Mom? What is it?"

"True, but I meant that a Red Sox fan would take special pleasure in using a Jacoby Ellsbury bat. Boston hasn't forgiven him for leaving them for the Yankees."

Ryan looks puzzled. "How did you know it was a Jacoby Ellsbury bat? You haven't even looked at it."

Castle wears a wait-for-this-look.

"Because he was last year's Bat Day player," she says.

Ryan's eyes grow impossibly wider. "You knew that?"

"Watch this, Ryan." Castle turns to Beckett. "Bat Day 2103?"

"1998 World Series Champions."

"2012?"

"Curtis Granderson." She smiles. "Okay, enough of my embarrassing display of Yankee fandom."

"Way back before either of us knew her, she was actually a Bleacher Creature."

"What's that, Mom? It sounds like you were an alien. I hope you have a picture."

"Castle!" She whispers, her lips barely moving and her cheeks reddening. "That was supposed to be a secret."

"You told me when—"

"Never mind when I told you."

"I want to know when he told you. Was it a special day?"

Beckett puts her hand up. "Getting back to the case. Castle's right. I don't think all of this is a coincidence. Is that Espo?"

Esposito has just come out of the site manager's office trailer and is jogging over to them. "Got something," he says. "The manager did recognize him. Says he's a counter guy at the deli down the street where they sometimes get coffee. It's called Felipe's."

"How did he get in here, in the middle of the night? Ryan, they must have some security cameras since this is a building site. Can you and Espo take care of that while Castle and I go to the deli?"

"We're leaving the game and going to a deli? Can we have a bagel?"

A few minutes later, Beckett and Castle arrive at Felipe's and ask for the manager. "Mr. Sosa? I'm Detective Beckett," she says, showing him her badge, "and this is Mr. Castle. Could we speak with you for a moment? Maybe in the back?"

"Sure," he says. "Right here, though this door."

The three of them are squeezed between stacks of industrial-strength cleaner and oversized jars of mayonnaise. "Is there a problem, officer?"

"Detective."

"I'm sorry, Detective. Is there a problem? We like the cops here. I mean, police. We like the police. No problems here."

"Thank you, sir. Do you have an employee, about five feet five, dark hair, in his late twenties? Works at the counter?"

"Yeah, Alex Hernandez. And the son of a bitch—excuse me—didn't show up for work this morning. I call him, keeps going to voicemail."

"What time was he due?" Castle asks.

"He's supposed to come in at four-thirty, get things started, coffee, unload the bread delivery, things like that. And I get here at five-fifteen like always and the store is all locked up. So we get a late start and customers are banging on the door."

"Has Mr. Hernandez done this before?" Beckett asks.

"No, he's always been a real good worker. Been here four years. But the last few days, you know, he's been in a lousy mood, keeps texting his girlfriend, Carla, when he should be doing things. I had to talk to him about it."

"So you think he's having problems with his girlfriend?

"Yeah. Definitely. I heard him on the phone a few times, too. Really getting into it." He stops, and pales. "Is there something wrong? Why are you asking about him? I was so mad about him not being here I didn't even ask."

"We think he may have been in an accident. Could you give us his address, please? And his girlfriend's name? Does she live with him?"

"Yes. Sure, I'm sorry." He writes the address on a piece of paper and hands it to Beckett. "I feel bad now, going off on the guy. Is he okay?"

"We'll let you know, sir. Thank you for your help." As soon as they're outside again, Beckett says, "Huh. A hundred and sixty-fourth and Gerard."

"His address? That's right by Yankee Stadium."

"It is. Let's go check in with Ryan and Espo, see if they got anything off the tapes, before we head up."

"What about a bagel? I'm hungry."

The boys had, in fact, found plenty. The cameras had caught two men and a woman running down the deserted street shortly after one o'clock. Alex was in front, with the others chasing him. He climbed the fence and jumped over, and the others followed. Another camera picked them up inside, and though the footage was fuzzy, the violent act was clear. The woman—presumably Carla—brought a bat down savagely on the back Alex's head and he fell to the ground. She stood next to him while the other man quickly went through Alex's pockets. Seconds later they took off, and Carla dropped the bat. The two scaled the fence, and disappeared.

"That is one angry woman," Beckett says. "Espo and Ryan, if you can get all this back to the precinct, get things moving, Castle and I will go up to the Bronx. See if we can find Carla and her partner in crime."

They find her forty minutes later, calmly eating breakfast in front of the TV. No resisting arrest, and she offers up the name of her partner. Beckett calls in to have someone pick him up. Carla just wants to finish her coffee before they take her in. They say no.

If only every case were this easy. Carla is in interrogation with Beckett and Castle, busily justifying homicide.

"He goes up on the roof to watch every goddamn Yankee game and I'm down here in this piece of crap apartment. What did he think? He never paid no attention to me during baseball season, so I found Manny. He treats me good. Me and Alex have been having words. Anyway, last night Alex comes down from the roof—which he never does during the game, takes a cooler of beer and a sandwich and a bag of chips up there with him, I swear to God—and catches me and Manny on the sofa, fooling around, you know. Anyway, calls me a whore, says he was going to propose to me after the season but not anymore. Says he's going down to work right then, get the ring he bought me and come back here and throw it in my face. And he goes out and slams the door and I say let's go get the asshole, and I go to the closet and I grab that fucking bat of his that he got last year and which he loves more than me, and we go."

"So you and Manny, what, drive down to the deli?" Beckett asks.

"No, we take the subway, the D to the one, and then we walk over to the deli and there he is, coming out the door. So we chase him. And that was it. Had it coming, you ask me."

At the end of the day, paperwork done, Beckett is at her desk and Castle is in his chair next to her.

"Not a Red Sox fan, after all, Beckett."

"No, just a woman scorned. I hope Jacoby Ellsbury never finds out."

"This hasn't put you off baseball, has it?"

"Are you kidding? Let's go to the game this weekend. In honor of Alex."

"Yay, Mom! Finally! Go, Yankees!"

They get up and walk to the elevator, calling out good night to the boys.

"Wait up," Ryan says. "I'm heading home, too. You coming, Javi?"

"Nah, got a couple of things to do. Night."

As soon as the others are safely away, Espo picks up his phone.

"You in, Perlmutter?"

"Yes, crass as it may be. Put me down for two hundred. I'll text you my bets—date, length, weight and gender, right?—tomorrow."

TBC

A/N The pool is definitely on! Thanks to all of you in the cheering section.