C Is For Murder

Season 9, Episode 18

Written by honeyandvodka

This is a work of fiction by writers with no professional connection to ABC network's Castle. Recognizable characters are the property of Andrew Marlowe and ABC. Names, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

"It's creepy at this time of night, is all," Jemima complained, but her companion just shrugged.

"I like it when it's dark," Tom said. "It's kind of nice now that there's nobody here."

"I just want to go home," she sighed, and he nodded.

"I just need to grab a book. I meant to pick it up when I was shelving before, but then someone wanted my help logging on to the wifi, and," he ran a hand through his hair, apparently weary of constant patron requests for help, "I forgot."

"Let's just get it and go," Jemima pressed, and they rounded the corner, the shelves all identical in the after-hours emergency lighting.

"Right here-" The words died on Tom's lips as he looked down; even in the dark there was no mistaking the form lying on the floor at his feet.

Jemima screamed.

"I thought you wanted an early night," Kate said, walking into the office from the living room.

Castle nodded, not looking up from his laptop. "I did. I do," he said, his fingers still flying across the keyboard.

"Babe, it's nearly midnight. Early is nine. Or eight. Or seven."

Castle looked up at her, a smirk on his face. "You used to work these hours as a matter of course," he pointed out.

She shrugged, stifling a yawn. "What can I say? I'm exhausted." She scowled. "All the time."

Castle grinned, closing his laptop and standing, walking around the desk to wrap his arms around her waist. "All the time? Even…" he ran his hands lower, his fingertips skating the soft skin on her hips, "even now?"

"Maybe… maybe not now," she agreed, leaning into him, her own hands finding their way under his shirt as she nudged him toward their bedroom, only to be interrupted by the shrill of the phone. She groaned in frustration as she snatched the offending device off the desk and slid her thumb across the screen, accepting the call. "Beckett."

"Beckett?" came Esposito's voice across the line. "I thought I called Castle's phone."

"No. It's mine," she replied, looking up at Castle and rolling her eyes, but he just held his hand out, forcing her to look at the cell in her hand. "Okay," she admitted to Espo, not relinquishing it to Castle just yet. "Fine, it's his." She paused. "Wait. You're on call. If you've caught a case, why are you calling Castle and not me?"

"What have we got?" Castle was practically bouncing as they ducked under the police tape and walked into the Mid-Manhattan Library, pleased that Beckett had agreed to join him in spite of being so tired this late at night. Plus, they were right across the road from the main branch, and that had to bode well - he could still feel the way she'd thrown her arms around him when he'd been implicated by Tyson and forced to orchestrate his own prison break.

"You're going to love this, bro," Espo assured him, his eyes shining. "It's seriously Castle-flavored."

Ryan appeared at the top of the inanimate escalator, beckoning them up. "Come on," he called.

"Guys," Beckett interrupted. "A little respect, please? No matter how Castle-flavored this is-" she wrinkled her nose, showing her open disdain at the implication that this specifically meant it wasn't Beckett-flavored, "-it's still a crime scene. And-" she pointed at the out-of-action escalator, "-I can't walk up that."

"There's an elevator." Esposito pointed across the room.

Castle followed Beckett's gaze toward the elevator, then looked longingly at the escalator again before meekly following his wife.

"This is terrible," Castle exclaimed. "This is awful." He glared at Esposito and Ryan before turning to Beckett. "How could they think this is Castle-flavored?"

Beckett swallowed the laughter that was threatening to bubble up. Yes, this was a crime scene, a murder scene at that, but the hangdog expression that had befallen Castle's face as he'd taken in the situation was nothing short of hilarious.

"Come on, Castle," she urged. "It's kind of... Castle-flavored."

"There is blood all over my books," he announced, as if she wasn't staring at the exact same scene as he was. "Blood. From a victim. Who is on the floor. Of a library. This is sacrilege."

"How is this different from when Tisdale stole scenes from your book?" she asked.

Castle scowled in response. "It just is," he mumbled, staring at his feet, then straightening up and setting a steely gaze toward the victim. He turned toward Lanie, who was crouched over the body. "Come on. This man clearly deserves our respect. Lanie, what have we got?"

Beckett huffed out a half sigh that might have been a strangled giggle, before turning her attention to the ME who was addressing Castle.

"It is what it looks like, Castle. I'll know more when we get him back to the lab, but from where I'm standing, I'm seeing a gunshot wound to the head." She indicated the books strewn across the body and the floor. "I'd say he was pushed backwards by the force and that knocked the books off the shelf as he fell."

"But why my books?" Castle asked morosely, and Beckett stifled a snort.

"Who is he, Lanie?" she asked.

Esposito stepped in. "Name's Johnson James; he's been an employee here for the last six months, a newly qualified librarian. His shift finished when the library closed at eleven, and Lanie puts the time of death around then. Those two-" he jerked a thumb toward a young man and woman who were speaking with Ryan, "-were on closing, and they found him just before they left, at eleven-thirty."

"And who are they?"

Espo consulted his notes before answering. "Jemima Bennett and Tom Clarke. Jemima's a librarian, and Tom's a shelver. They were closing tonight and Tom wanted to borrow a book before they left."

"Jemima looks pretty upset," Beckett mused, and Castle followed her gaze and her train of thought.

"But Tom doesn't," he finished. He met his wife's eyes. "Let's get them into the precinct first thing in the morning."

Castle stepped out of the interview room, followed by Ryan, dejection all over his face.

"Well?" Beckett asked as they returned to the bullpen, and Castle shrugged.

"It wasn't him," he said.

"And you know this how?" A smile played on Beckett's face.

"He's a fan," Castle told her. "He was even at the convention a few weeks ago, sat in on all the panels. Huge fan. Loves Nikki, loves Rook. He's even tried his hand at fanfic, though he told me he only gets a half dozen reviews for every story, and to be honest, he outlined a couple of plots, and, well, they sucked."

Beckett raised a hand to her temple, the smile strained as she turned to Ryan in the hope of a more definitive report.

"He's got an alibi," Ryan said. "He was on the phone to his mom while Jemima closed up. We'll check his phone records, but yeah, I think we can cut him loose."

"See?" Beckett asked Castle, an eyebrow raised. "He's got an alibi. That's a bit more legitimate than the fact that he's a fanfic writer."

"Both are valid," Castle scowled.

"Back to square one," Ryan sighed. "Though he did mention that Johnson had been arguing with-" he consulted his notes, "-an Emma Miller earlier in the day."

"And who is Emma Miller?"

"She's another librarian. They were having - get this - an argument about whether Dewey is better or worse than the Library of Congress classification system."

"Librarians," groaned Esposito, joining them in front of the whiteboard.

"What do you have against librarians?" Castle asked, an edge to his voice.

"What don't I?" Esposito scowled. "Starting with Mrs. Rodriguez, my elementary school librarian, who gave me detention for putting gum in a book when I was in second grade. And then in high school-"

Beckett raised her hand, cutting Esposito off. "Guys. I have... paperwork. I have to go... over there." She indicated toward her desk, shaking her head as she fled toward the peace and quiet offered by the closed door of her office.

"So you think because two adults had an intellectual discussion on library classification systems-" Castle directed this at Ryan, before stepping toward Esposito and jabbing a finger into his chest, his volume increasing. "And you think librarians aren't worth taking seriously because you were disciplined for defiling a book," he glared at the two of them, "that this poor Emma Miller killed our victim?"

"Dude." Esposito stared back at him, grasping his finger and removing it from where it was still resting on his chest. "Librarians have a whole hidden agenda. Do not tell me you don't get that?"

"And I do not think 'an intellectual discussion' about library classification systems got our vic killed," Ryan interjected. "But I do think that it's worth bringing Emma Miller in for a chat."

"I would," LT said, sidling up to Ryan and handing the detective a file. "Take a look at this."

Ryan scanned the pages, a satisfied smile creeping across his face. "Look at this," he said, holding up Emma Miller's DMV photograph for everyone to see. Dark eyes stared out of the picture, electric blue hair framing a pale face. "Not your everyday librarian, right?"

"Because she has blue hair?" Castle asked, digging his heels in, but Ryan just shook his head.

"No, man, not because she has blue hair. Seriously, what is your problem? Because of this." He thrust the paper at the writer. "Because she was charged with assaulting a colleague in a library she worked at in Ohio two years ago."

"Fine," Castle grumbled, his heart sinking. First blood all over his books, and now a librarian was their suspect? This was worse than bad. A copycat was one thing - plus, he'd been younger and more arrogant then, he didn't mind admitting that to himself - but this was too much. This defiled the whole literary world.

"We'll bring her in," LT told them, directing a wry smile at Castle before departing.

"Cheer up, Castle," Ryan said. "Maybe it wasn't her. And you know it's just a coincidence that it was your books that got all messed up, right?"

"Is it?" Castle asked darkly. "This is the worst case ever."