There would be no third murder by the next day, but there were still plenty of questions.

"Emily Watkins, twenty-three years old, last seen as she was leaving her apartment at 9pm to go to a party. She was planning on taking a cab but no cab driver in the area at the time of her disappearance seems to recall picking her up. There were no charges on her credit card for a fee either. The last transaction was hours prior when she bought some groceries for the weekend."

Resuming their investigation early in the morning to capture as much information as possible had given them a head start into the right direction.

While Ryan and Esposito had contacted the next of kin, Beckett and Castle had sat with Perlmutter to go over the findings of the autopsy. Much like their previous victim, the violent matter of death was the thin red line tying these cases together.

Emily wasn't missing any limbs, her corpse remarkably intact except for the upper third. It had been hard to tell just what kind of substrate the killer had kept the body submerged in, while leaving the top exposed to the elements.

The Why in it all was a completely different question.

The sexual motif between the rape and the insertion of the branch was undeniable and just like last time, no genetic traces of the killer could be found.

The next of kin had described Emily as an outgoing young woman who easily made friends. Unlike Raquelle, she had a well-paying job at a local law firm and shared an upscale apartment with her roommate from college. There were no known boyfriends and no reports of stalkers or strange sightings, making Beckett wonder once again if their killer picked his victims at random.

"You know, the old man told us that Raquelle had stepped into that dark car. What if this guy offered to drive her and that's how he makes contact? Would explain lack of a taxi charge."

Ryan's remark caused several approving nods, along with a bad feeling in Beckett's gut. Pursing her lips for a moment, she looked over at Castle, then toward the nearby windows.

"Ryan, Espo, have Gates put out a news release to warn young women in the area about our killer. Tell them not to hitchhike, not to accept offers for a ride from anybody, even if they claim to be a friend of a friend. We don't know exactly what line he uses to lure women into his car so keep it as all-inclusive as possible."

"The charming guy offering help to a damsel in distress…", Castle mused behind her, his gaze staying on the murder board as his mind continued to look for the missing pieces.

"Or the dude pulling over saying her mother is in the hospital and he was sent to get her.", Esposito countered, his tense expression not hiding his misgivings about their killer.

"Well, whatever it is that he says, let's get the word out asap. We can't afford to lose any more women to this guy."

With an obedient not, Esposito turned around, using the file in his hand to slap his partner's shoulder, coaxing him to follow along and leaving her alone with an unusually quiet writer.

For a precious moment, she just stood there, watching his eyes travelling from one picture to the next, tying together clues as he put himself into the mind of their killer.

So much of that playful lightheartedness was gone now, replaced by an eerie intensity, a primal metamorphosis that she hadn't seen before.

There was a depth to his expression that was downright frightening, that calculated thinking hardening his features, making his strong jaws show from underneath the soft, well-taken-care-of skin. His mouth was open a slit, as though he'd been caught mid-sentence, torn between relinquishing his insights and holding his breath.

Even his shoulders were straight, his chest puffed out, hands clasped to tight fists, hiding the well-manicured fingernails that now dug into his palms.

"Castle?"

Her quiet question wasn't answered right away, as though the process was still ongoing, his thoughts so powerful that they couldn't be interrupted.

It would take many more seconds before he finally looked back over at her, his blue eyes softening significantly, as he drew in an overdue breath.

"There's a story in all of this. Our killer is telling a story. We just need to figure out what it is."

Giving the writer some time to return to his usual self, she joined him at the murder board, cringing at the grotesque pictures once more as she crossed her arms over her chest.

"The sexual motif is evident. He is disfiguring their femininity."

"Both women were about the same height and weight, their facial features somewhat similar. So, he is killing whatever he sees in them. Could be a mother-complex, or stepmother. Some strong maternal person in his life."

"And killing these girls makes him feel in control over that person."

With a slight nod, he raised a hand to point at the picture of Raquelle's mutilated arms.

"And he takes trophies with him. Because it helps ease his anxiety. This is a very anxious man, possibly somebody who is on his own for the first time, free to live out his fantasies but still learning about himself. He wants to ease the monster within by keeping trophies, by showing himself what he is capable of, what he has accomplished so far. That's why he revisits and relocates the bodies. It allows him to relive those memories all over again while building courage for the next kill."

In awe at the intricate detail the writer had so easily added to their killer's profile, Beckett smiled faintly.

"That's pretty impressive. Say, if you ever get tired of writing books, I bet you could make a career out of forensic psychology, Castle."