The clock in the church on the corner had just chimed two a.m., and hardly anyone was about, but the car sitting idling at the curb was expensive, new, something not normally seen in this neighbourhood unless someone was lost. The sleet falling showed no signs of abating, and the sound of it hitting the trash cans virtually drowned out the gunshots that echoed from the alley.

The man from the Iranian restaurant who came out for an illicit cigarette five hours later into clear skies shivered at the drop in temperature, and wondered, yet again, whether he should give up smoking. Instead he moved from the back door, careful not to slide on the ice that had formed, using his hands to cup the match. Drawing the fragrant smoke into his lungs, he glanced down. He looked closer. The puddle he was standing next to seemed coloured pink. Touching it with his toe, he realised it was frozen solid, and there was a trail leading further up the alley. Curious, he followed it, his breath crystallising in front of him. He bent down to investigate what appeared to be a pile of clothes …

---

"Don't forget this Friday," Alexis said, gathering her books together. "Front row seats for The Importance of Being Earnest."

Rick smiled, even as he swallowed the spoonful of breakfast cereal. "How could I? The last few weeks it's been worse than living with your grandmother." He chased a rivulet of milk on his chin with the back of his hand.

She slapped at his arm. "Don't talk like that."

The smile turned to a grin. "Two actresses in the family ... I'm not sure I can cope."

"It must be my genes." Martha Rodgers came down the stairs, carefully dressed and made up as usual. "They always do say talent skips a generation."

"I thought that was twins."

"That too." She took the cup of coffee he offered her but looked at her granddaughter. "And I know you're going to be wonderful."

"Hey, did I say I didn't?" Rick smiled at his daughter. "You're going to be a perfect Gwendolyn."

"Thanks, Dad." Alexis reached over and kissed his cheek, then did the same to her Gran. "See you later."

"Wait. It's too early, even for you," Rick protested, glancing at the clock.

"Taylor and I want to run over our lines again before the dress rehearsal this afternoon." She ran to the door, snatching up her umbrella. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do."

"And miss out on all the fun?"

She laughed and hurried out.

Martha sighed and turned back to her son. "You know, I remember playing Cecily, back when I was an ingénue. Off-off Broadway, of course, but there was something about it, those wonderful words, the cleverness of the story … it really spoke to me." She smiled suddenly. "Of course, it might have helped that I was in love at the time."

Rick gave her the eye. "Anyone I should know?"

"Not your father. You came along later."

"How come you can remember who he wasn't, but not who he was?"

"Luck."

He would have made a snappy comeback, but his cellphone rang. Just a glance told him who it was, and he smiled in anticipation. Flipping the front up he said, "Kate. What, when, and where?"

---

It was the kind of place he'd avoided coming to for years, and yet had lately found himself all too often. An alleyway, slipped between two restaurants, and piled high with sacks filled with the remnants of a hundred meals. Something skittered away behind a row of dumpsters, and he could only hope it was a rat, and not something larger, with bigger teeth.

Trying hard not to brush up against anything, Rick moved closer to Kate Beckett, staring down at the corpse.

"Tell me," she said quietly to Esposito.

The detective settled himself. "Hamid Hamda had just started his shift and came out for a break. He found the man first, then the woman."

"A couple?"

"Nope. Not from the clothes. Anyway, he ran into the street, got the attention of a black and white."

"And the smell?"

"He threw up when he found the bodies."

"Not surprised," Rick muttered, burrowing a little deeper into his overcoat.

"ID?" Kate prompted, ignoring him.

"Max Harland." Esposito read from his notebook. "According to his driver's licence, he's forty-three years old, and according to his wallet he was robbed."

Dr Perlmutter, the ME on call, looked up from his investigation. "From the entry wound I'd say it was a forty-five. It's a through and through, so your boys need to look for the slug."

"Slug?" Ryan teased.

"I'm trying to fit in." Perlmutter straightened up and signalled his men to get the body onto the gurney.

"Any sign of defensive wounds?" Kate wanted to know.

"Not at the moment, but there's stippling. Whoever did this was close up and personal."

"Time of death?"

"Seven, eight hours, give or take. I'll be able to give you a better idea once I get him on the table."

"And her?" Kate turned to the second body, still lying on the ground where she'd fallen. Dressed in a variety of mismatched clothes, her greying hair had come loose from its bun and fallen across her face, obscuring her features. She was on her side, knees drawn up towards her chest as if to protect herself, although if she had it would have done little good.

"Same again," Perlmutter said. "No stippling, but there's some powder burns, so maybe four, five feet. No exit wound this time, so we might be lucky."

"What about ID?"

Esposito shook his head. "Nope. She's got twenty bucks sewn into her blouse, but there's no wallet, no driver's licence, no cards."

"She wouldn't need any," Rick said. "She's home." He nodded towards the cardboard boxes at the end of the alley, a dirty blanket poking from underneath one.

"Looks like she interrupted a mugging, got caught in the crossfire," Ryan added. He pointed towards where the kitchen worker was still giving his statement. "Hamid there says they've chased her away about fifty times, but she always comes back. Seems like this time she was in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"What's the address on Harland?" Kate asked.

"Park Avenue. High end."

Rick's eyebrows raised. "That Max Harland?"

Kate turned on him. "You know him?"

"Heard of him. He's famous in some circles."

"And what circles would that be?"

"Questionable ones. He buys up businesses, sells off the bits that make money, gets rid of everything else."

"Asset stripper," Ryan supplied.

Rick nodded. "There was something in the news about six months ago about him being sued, and there were a lot of unhappy people interviewed."

"Look into it," Kate ordered, and Ryan nodded, making a note. "Is he married?" She looked at Rick.

"Very. I remember a picture of her standing by his side, the traditional 'united front'. I don't recall any kids, which is unusual. Normally the whole shebang is dragged out to show what a good guy these people are."

"Not everyone wants children, Castle. And maybe he was a good guy, to his wife at least."

"Detective." It was a uniformed officer, holding something out in an evidence bag.

Kate took it, and the surprise was evident on her face. "Where did you find these?"

"Trash can about half a block from here."

"What is it?" Rick asked.

Kate held up the bag. "Credit cards. Half a dozen."

"So our motive of robbery just got fuzzier."

"Then I think we need to talk to Mrs Harland." She strode out of the alleyway, Rick following at her heels like a love-starved puppy.

---

Alicia Harland was blonde, very slim, and lost in the black dress she was wearing. A couple of uniforms had broken the news, and from the blotchy state of her face and her red eyes, she'd not stopped crying since.

"Max was a good man," she insisted, sitting on the very edge of the cabriole-legged sofa. "A good man."

For a moment Rick, leaning back in the matching chair, wondered if it was all an act, but rapidly revised his opinion. He'd got so used to having to be charitable and telling himself that they were just better at holding it together than might have been expected, but this time … no, this was real. Honest grief.

Kate had nodded while he was musing, and said, "I'm very sorry for your loss."

A platitude, the standard words, but Mrs Harland took them as they were spoken. "Thank you."

"I do have a few questions. If you're up to it."

Mrs Harland sniffed and wiped at her nose with the balled-up tissue in her hand. "I … yes, of course."

"When did you last speak to your husband?"

"Yesterday evening." Mrs Harland glanced at the row of framed photos set along the top of the grand piano. They were all of the same couple, a couple with additional people in them, some famous, but mostly just the one pair. And one of them wasn't going to have his picture taken ever again. "Max called me to let me know he was going to get something to eat then finish off some work. He said he'd be home in the morning."

"Was that usual?"

"We have an apartment above the office, and he often sleeps there if it's late, so he doesn't wake me coming in …" What she was saying registered, and fresh tears welled in her eyes.

As much as Kate sympathised, she had to keep things on track. "Mrs Harland, your husband was found off West 145th Street – do you have any idea what he was doing that far north?"

Her fingers began shredding the tissue, little white fragments falling to mar her black dress. "If Max can't … couldn't sleep, he drives. Drove."

Rick understood. He knew it was going to be a long time until she used the past tense automatically without having to think about it first, without feeling a fresh stab of pain. "There wasn't a car at the … where he was found."

Mrs Harland squeezed the remains of the tissue tightly in her fist, her nails leaving clear half-moon impressions in her palm. "He hates the subway, says it makes him feel like a sardine in one of those little cans. He's always had a car, even before we moved to New York, and he didn't see a reason to stop."

"Do you know the make and model?" Kate asked.

"A Mercedes S-class. I bought it for him for our anniversary last year. He loves … loved …" She had to swallow hard.

"Did he usually drive that far?" Rick glanced at his partner. "In the middle of the night?"

"I've known him drive out of state if he was worried about something."

"Was he?" Kate sat forward. "Worried about something?"

A flash of fire warmed the other woman's features. "I know what you think. What people say. That he's ruthless, uncaring. He's not. He just wants to provide for us, to make sure we're …" Her voice caught and she had to stop.

"Mrs Harland, that didn't answer the question," Rick said gently.

Her glare lit on him. "Yes. He was worried. There was that man suing him, even though it got thrown out of court, and the emails –"

"Emails?"

"I didn't see all of them, but from the few Max showed me …"

"Threats?"

"Yes."

"Can I see them?"

"I don't have them. But I'm sure they're on Max's computer at work."

"Do you have the keys to the office?"

"Yes. Of course, I'm sorry. I'll get them for you." She got to her feet and disappeared out of the room.

---

As they drove back towards the precinct, Kate was biting her lip thoughtfully.

"Penny for them?" Rick asked, adding quickly, "Although in this day and age that seems a little cheap. How about a buck ninety for them?"

For a moment she didn't answer, didn't even smile, then said, "Mrs Harland seemed honestly upset."

Surprised to hear his own inner musing echoed back to him, Rick nodded. "She loved him."

"Or maybe she killed him and regrets it."

He turned enough in the seat to look at her. "That's what you think?"

"No. But I have to consider all the angles." She shook her head. "It's the rest of it that's confusing me."

"You? Kate Beckett? Confused?" He clutched his hand to his chest. "I think I'm having a heart attack."

She gave him one of her patented glares, then went back to staring at the road, her fingers tapping on the steering wheel. "What was he doing so far north? If his office is in the business district, he'd have to virtually drive past his home to get to the crime scene. Why not just pull in, sleep on the couch if he didn't want to wake her?"

"Maybe he wasn't alone."

"What?"

"She said he often worked late, that's why they kept the apartment. Maybe all those evenings he said he was working, it was a different kind of business going on. A far prettier, more enjoyable kind of business. Only this time, when they finished, he said he'd drive her home instead of calling a cab. It was cold, wet … and he fancied being a gentleman for once and seeing her to her door."

He got into the swing of the story, staring out of the window into the clear winter day. "Only they get into an argument in the car, and she demands he lets her out. Maybe she wants him to leave his wife, maybe he wants her to give up whatever she's doing, but they fight. She jumps out, runs away from him. He follows, into the alley. Maybe there's blows, maybe not. Our homeless woman hears the argument continuing, comes out to tell them to go away, that they're disturbing her sleep, and they would have, but Harland grabs for his girlfriend's arm, and she's got a gun in her purse. She uses it. Then she realises there's a witness, and pops her too." He mimed shooting a gun.

The look on Kate's face was priceless. "Pops her?"

"Cleans up, if you prefer."

"Big purse. To carry a forty-five."

"Have you seen the size of some of them? They could fit the kitchen sink in there and still have room for a fifth of scotch."

"Is that what your mother uses?"

"Oh, my mother's been known to carry a carpet bag just to hold her make-up."

"I'll tell her you said that."

"Don't. Otherwise you might be investigating my murder."

"She'd get off. Justifiable homicide."

He half-grinned at her. "Anyway, I was just saying."

"You do realise, if you're right, you've just given Mrs Harland a pretty good motive for wanting to get rid of her husband."

"Or it really could be a mugging gone badly wrong. The cash was missing, and maybe the perp decided the cards were more trouble than they were worth. There are easier ways for a wife to get rid of an unfaithful spouse. And considering my two divorces, a lot more painful to the spouse."

"Maybe."

He gazed at her serious face, and wanted to give something back. "We'll get there, Kate. We always do."

"I don't know. Something about the whole thing just feels … hinkey."

"Hinkey?"

"It's a word," she said defensively. "And it does."

"Oh, I'm not disagreeing with the sentiment. I just don't think Mrs Harland arranged for her husband to be got rid of."

"Maybe she did it herself."

"Katie, that woman's loaded. Did you see the diamond ring on her finger? That could have bought my apartment. If she wanted it, she could pay to have the New York Yankees blown away and not even have felt the pinch."

"Don't call me Katie." It was automatic, this particular reaction, which was why he wasn't fazed by it.

"Anyway, like you said, she was honestly upset." He sat back. "And I've lived with an actress long enough to get to know when people aren't telling the truth."

There was a beat, and for a second Kate wondered, then she said, "Your mother."

Rick smirked. "Of course. Who else did you think I was talking about?"

Her eyes narrowed, and she felt the urge to wipe the smile off his face. "And you don't get it right every time."

"Neither do you."

"I never suggested I did."

"Nor me."

There was a slightly uncomfortable silence for a minute before Kate did what she had promised herself she wouldn't, and broke it. "So maybe she isn't a good suspect, but we have to look at everyone."

"I know." He relaxed. "At least she was wearing black."

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm just saying it was nice. People don't go into mourning like they used to." He was getting into his stride. "You know, Queen Victoria wore black for decades after Prince Albert died."

"Mrs Harland isn't English royalty."

"Which is lucky for us. We'd probably have ended up in the Tower of London accused of treason, existing on nothing but bread and water." He shuddered dramatically.

She glanced at him. "That wouldn't do you any harm for a couple of days."

"Are you saying I'm fat?" He leaned back in his seat and sucked in his gut.

"If I was, you'd know." Her lips twitched. "So how much useless information is in your brain?"

"Oh, loads," he said happily. "Sometimes I'm afraid if I hear one more fact, my head will explode."

"Well, if that's likely to happen, you let me know. I'll sell tickets."

"Your concern is touching."

---

Ryan and Esposito had got the murder board up and running by the time they got back to the precinct, and Rick took the opportunity to head to the men's room and grab two coffees on the way back.

"I hope you washed your hands," Kate said as she accepted one of the cups, wrapping her fingers around it to warm them.

He managed to look affronted. "Of course. My mother would be horrified if she thought I hadn't."

Ryan walked back into the squad room, his normal Castle novel tucked under his arm. "No joy with the slug that killed Harland," he said as he approached Kate's desk.

"CSU didn't find it?" she asked.

"Oh, they found it, but it hit the brick wall. They're not hopeful of getting anything useful in the way of striations to match it to anything else."

"We'll have to wait for Perlmutter to autopsy the woman then." She stared at the murder board, at the photo of the unknown woman. "Anything on the car?" Kate had called in the details on the way back.

"Not so far. It looks like the GPS is switched off, or maybe destroyed – we can't get a ping from it."

"Tell the company to keep trying it. I know it's a long shot, but maybe the perp drove it away."

"Will do."

"Then you and Esposito head over to Harland's office. He's had a lot of threatening emails lately, and his wife said he kept copies there."

"Okay, boss."

Rick waited until Ryan had gone back to his desk to gather his notebook and pen before saying to Kate, "Perp?"

"What?" She was still gazing at the murder board.

"You said perp. I didn't think you used that word."

"It must be hanging around with you."

He smiled a little as Esposito headed into the bull pen, a mug of coffee in his own hand.

Ryan shook his head. "No time for that, bro," he said. "We have a date with a secretary."

"Can I at least get it to go?" Esposito complained, gazing into its dark, exotic, enticing depths.

"No. Last time you did that you spilled it all over my upholstery."

"I'll be careful."

"No."

Esposito glared, but his partner was adamant. With a grimace, he forced down as much of the hot liquid as possible, then put the mug down on the desk harder than was strictly necessary. He grabbed his coat. "Fine," he managed to say. "I hope you're happy."

Ryan smiled. "Yes, thank you."

Rick leaned back in his chair. "Hey, guys, don't forget. This Friday. The Importance of Being Earnest."

Esposito looked at him. "I don't know. I think I'm busy."

"Yeah, me too," Ryan agreed.

"Your girlfriend? Bring her along," Rick said. "The more the merrier."

"As long as it isn't past her bed time," Esposito teased.

Ryan favoured him with a disparaging look. "Oh, ha ha. Don't give up your day job."

"Honey milk."

"I knew I should never have told you."

Esposito grinned, his good humour back.

"No, I mean it," Rick continued. "I know Alexis would love to know you were out in the audience."

"I ... let me think about it," Ryan said.

"I've already bought the tickets."

Ryan knew when he'd been out-manoeuvred. "I … suppose I …"

Rick grinned. "Great. 7.30 pm."

"Damn," Ryan breathed.

"Yeah, you and me both," Esposito echoed.

"I don't get how come your daughter's school is doing that play so close to Christmas," Kate said, barely able to contain a smile. "Surely there's something more seasonal they could put on."

Rick shrugged. "I gather it's a 'reimagining'."

"Did you just do air quotes?"

"No."

"Then why are you looking guilty?"

"I'm not."

"Esposito."

"Sorry, bro, but you are."

"Okay. Okay, so I might have accidentally looked like I was doing air quotes, but only because that's what Alexis's drama coach does."

Kate smiled. "So what does this reimagining take the shape of?"

"You thought about doing them, didn't you?"

"No. And answer the question."

"Well, from what I gather, it's pretty much set in the middle of winter instead of summer."

"Can it work like that?"

"My mother thinks so." He shrugged, obviously not convinced. "I'm not sure what Oscar would have said about it."

"You do realise only pretentious people talk about great authors using their first name, don't you?"

"So when people call me Rick –"

"No."

"Oh."

"Is that why you've never let anyone buy the movie rights to any of your books?" Ryan asked. "Because they might change things?"

"They're my creations. Even if they are 'the meanderings of a seriously flawed human being who can only find true happiness in the pain and degradation of others'."

Ryan looked at Kate for clarification.

"The Maine Harbour Herald," she supplied. "In a review of Heat Wave."

"My mother found it," Rick went on. "She never ceases in her life's task of trying to ground me. Sometimes so successfully I feel like I'm six feet under." He suddenly flashed a smile. "And yes, you're right. I'd hate to see someone butcher them." He shook his head. "Last time the amount of money they offered me was almost obscene."

"Only almost?" Now it was Kate's turn to tease.

"Oh, yes. And until it is, my books stay unfilmed."

"I didn't know you had such moral fibre."

"It's the time of year. And that's another reason they're not doing anything more festive. Too many different ethnicities they want to avoid insulting."

"They'll be cancelling Macey's parade next," Esposito said.

"Well, they're not," Kate said, suddenly all business again. "And you have work to do. Harland's office."

Ryan sketched a salute. "Yes, boss."

The partners hurried out.

"So what are we going to do?" Rick asked, sipping his coffee.

"Interview Deeker."

"Who?"

"The man who tried to sue Harland. He's being picked up right now."

"You never told me," he said accusingly.

"You were washing your hands."

"I was gone a minute."

"Five. And I'm good."

The smug look was back. "So you say. Personally, I can't wait to find out."

---

"I didn't kill him." Roderick Deeker, tall, balding and aggrieved, crossed his arms. "I wanted to, but my therapist said it was a bad idea. That it was just my deep seated insecurities flaring up. He said that I knew I was in the right, and one day everyone else would too, so I didn't need to get dragged down to Harland's level and descend into violence."

"He sounds like he's worth every penny," Rick said.

Deeker glared at him. "Who are you?"

"He's consulting," Kate said.

"On what?"

"Sometimes I wonder," she breathed, then said louder, "You tried to sue him for a lot of money."

"So you think I should have sued for a pittance?" Deeker shook his head. "The man bought my company out from under me, the one I'd spent years building up by the sweat of my brow, then sold it piecemeal for a fortune."

"Didn't you have controlling interest?" Rick asked.

For a moment Deeker looked uncomfortable. "I had to realise some capital a couple of years ago, and had no choice but to sell some shares. But it was only to small investors, a few thousand each. How was I to know Harland would go to the trouble of tracking them down? And I still owned forty-five percent. I thought that would be enough. It should have been. But my wife ..." The amount of venom he managed to get into the word wife was quite amazing. "She owned ten, and she sold them to Harland. For virtually nothing!"

"Marital problems?" Rick could at least feel for the man.

"The bitch is divorcing me." He slapped his chest. "Me! Roderick Deeker! Well, she's going to have a fight on her hands if she thinks she's going to get a penny."

"Of what?" Kate asked. "Just a look at your financials suggests you're barely able to cover your analyst's bills, let alone alimony."

"Then she's going to be sorely disappointed then, isn't she?"

"So Harland bankrupted you. That's a pretty good motive for murder."

Deeker looked almost apoplectic. "I didn't kill him! Except in my dreams. And I have an alibi." His face calmed, and he almost smiled. "A really good alibi."

---

Fifteen minutes and a lot of dancing around later, Kate and Rick joined Ryan in the observation room.

"Well?" she asked.

Ryan handed over a sheaf of paper. "All of these emails are from our friend in there. And every one of them is threatening some sort of physical harm or other."

Rick read over her shoulder. "'If there were any justice in the world, you'd be taken out and staked in the middle of Times Square, tied to four trucks going in different directions and …'" He stopped. "The man has imagination," he added, almost admiringly. "Although I'm not sure you can be staked out and pulled apart at the same time."

"I'm sure it it's possible you'd find a way for one of your books," Kate said drily.

"Well, you know how creative I can be when I'm working out ways to get rid of people."

She closed her eyes, berating herself yet again for ever letting Castle know she'd read any of his books, let alone all of them. "Right."

Rick, know the effect he was having, leaned nonchalantly on the wall by the mirror with a grin fixed firmly on his face, thumbing through another handful of printouts Ryan passed across. "So, do you think he's guilty?"

Kate pulled herself together. "Oddly enough, no. Normally potential murderers don't send traceable emails, and sign the bottom."

"I'll admit he's not exactly my first choice, either."

"Not literary enough for you?"

"On the contrary. Some of these suggestions for ways to die are almost Biblical." He shrugged slightly. "Although I'm not sure his therapist would approve."

"It probably equates to talking it out instead of doing it," Kate suggested.

Esposito stuck his head around the door. "Deeker's alibi holds out. He was at a twenty-four hour anger management seminar at the Waldorf, with thirty witnesses to the fact that he never left the ballroom all night."

"Anger management?" Rick looked through the two-way mirror at the man seated behind the table, studying his nails. "I think he should get his money back."

Kate sighed. "Cut him loose."

"Boss?" Esposito asked.

"We don't have anything to him on, and I don't think he has the cash for a hitman."

"Up close and personal ..." Rick mused.

"Yeah, well, Deeker wasn't Harland's only enemy," Kate said, holding her notebook in front of her like a shield. "We just have to look a little deeper."

---

"Castle." Ryan strode towards him, tossing a small, flat cardboard box from hand to hand. "Guy just dropped this off for you."

"Me?" Rick took it, turning it over.

"Should we all duck for cover?" Kate asked, her attention taken, at least for the moment, from the murder board. "Or dunk it in water?"

"No," Rick said, tugging on the tear strip. The box opened and a CD fell into his hand. "Yes," he added in evident satisfaction. He held it up.

Kate read the title. "Cathartic Oyster?"

"Is that the name of the band or the album?" Ryan asked.

"Both." Rick sat up straighter. "They're one of Alexis's new favourites, and after the case with the Blue Pill I thought she'd like this."

Plucking it from his fingers, Kate studied the cover, a picture of a large oyster reclining on a sun lounger, being served what looked like a Mai Tai by a banana in a waistcoat. "Won't she have downloaded it already?"

"Of course." Turning in the chair Rick gently took it back. "But Paula, my book editor, knows their manager, and she got him to get them to sign it." He indicated the names, silver-Sharpied onto the sleeve. "It's a one-off. According to Alexis, they never give out autographs. As in never ever," he added for emphasis.

"So what do they play?" Ryan wanted to know.

"Grunge rock."

"What's that?"

Rick shrugged. "I think it means they don't wash."

"The car's a dead end," Esposito said, walking into the squad room. "Uniforms just raided a chop shop, and there it was, having all its innards removed. According to the owner it was just sitting at the curb, engine running, right by where we found Harland's body, and a civic-minded citizen decided to make a few bucks."

Kate was back to business immediately. "Without checking for the owner."

"Hey, this is New York."

Rick shook his head. "But that doesn't explain why he'd get out right there. What purpose would he have?"

"Maybe someone was in the back seat," Kate conjectured. "If you had a gun pressed against your neck, wouldn't you drive where someone told you?"

With a slight shiver, his mind playing the scenario all too clearly, Rick shrugged. "I guess."

"CSU's going over it right now, but so far they're not holding out much hope," Esposito put in. "Apparently it looks like it's in too many pieces." He went back to his desk.

Rick wasn't about to let it go. "But it's still a coincidence."

"Why?" Kate span in her chair and gazed at him. "He leaves the office for his usual drive around, something he's known for doing when he can't sleep, only this time someone's waiting for him, either in the car or outside. Someone who thinks he's been duped by Harland, or a disgruntled employee maybe, but whose had enough and wants revenge. He makes Harland drive until he finds someplace quiet, deserted, then takes him into the alley to off him. Our homeless woman happens to be a witness, and the killer shoots her before making his getaway."

Rick had to smile. "And you say I make up stories?"

The phone on Kate's desk rang and she picked it up. "Beckett."

"Edna Dickson."

"What?"

It was Perlmutter, and he sounded smug. "Your homeless woman. Edna Dickson."

Kate pulled herself together. "I didn't think you'd get fingerprints back this fast."

"I didn't. She's got it written in every single piece of clothing she had on."

"That's helpful. Cause of death?"

"Nothing unexpected. Gunshot wound, straight through the heart, although whoever shot her might only have hurried things up a bit. She had pneumonia, as well as another couple of interesting diseases." For once he seemed mildly interested, even if it was only in the maladies rather than the people.

"She was dying anyway?"

"Not necessarily. If she'd gotten help, some decent antibiotics, who knows." There was the sound of paper rattling. "And I got the bullet. It's a bit dented, but you should be able to match any striations. I've sent it to Forensics."

"Thank you."

"Oh, and there's just one other thing."

Kate paused in the notes she was making. "What?"

"She'd had a child, possibly two."

Children. "Any idea how old she was?"

"Who do you think I am – information?" Perlmutter was getting annoyed.

"Humour me."

For a second Kate thought he'd hung up on her again, then the pathologist said, "Despite the colour of her hair, the neglect, I'd say not more than forty. Maybe even as young as thirty-five, but that's a stretch."

"So she might have a young family somewhere."

"Maybe. But that's your job to find out." This time he did hang up.

Kate glared at the phone before replacing it in the cradle. "Doesn't that man understand anything about customer care?"

Rick shook his head. "As far as he's concerned, his customers are all dead. They won't care if he's obnoxious or not."

"He doesn't have to try quite that hard." She quickly briefed the others on Perlmutter's findings, before saying to Ryan and Esposito, "Keep on Forensic's tail. I want as much information on that bullet as possible. Whoever did this killed two people and made it look easy. I have the feeling the murderer had done it before, so maybe we'll be lucky and get a hit." She glanced at the murder board again, Harland's picture front and centre, Edna Dickson – as they now knew – to one side. "And
I made a promise to Mrs Harland to find out who did this."

---

It was late, and outside the city glittered under a thin covering of frost. Another cold night, another battle for survival amongst the down and outs, to make it to the morning without ending up just another statistic. Nikki pulled her collar up higher around her long neck, and –

"Dad?"

Rick looked up from his laptop, perched on his legs, his feet up on the desk. "What's up, pumpkin?" he asked, seeing his daughter in the doorway to the study. "And shouldn't you be asleep?" He glanced at the clock. "Otherwise Gwendolyn's going to have bags under her eyes."

"I couldn't sleep. I keep thinking about Edna."

Rick put the laptop down and got to his feet. "Come on." He led her to the couch, making her sit next to him. "Tell me."

"I just …" Alexis shook her head, leaning against him. "It's just so sad. I mean, there's Edna, homeless, nothing to her name, and she gets killed for no apparent reason other than being in the wrong place at the wrong time."

He put his arm around her and squeezed. "I know. But then murder isn't exactly a happy business. Unless you're only writing about it."

She ignored the comment, too deep in her unhappiness for a fellow human being. "And no-one's ever going to know."

"Who?"

"Edna's family."

"Her family."

Alexis looked up into his face, her clear eyes troubled. "She must have one. You said she'd had a child, perhaps two." They discussed the case over take-out, just the two of them, as Martha was still deep in rehearsals and dining with her fellow cast members. "So maybe there's a husband, parents … very few people have no-one."

It hadn't occurred to him, and he mentally slapped his own wrist. "She could be alone."

"What if she isn't? I mean, she's a person too. Two people died, Dad. And if nobody finds out, if nobody tells them, they're always going to be wondering." She shivered. "I would, if something happened to you and I didn't know."

"Nothing's going to happen to me, you know that, don't you?"

"Edna probably thought the same thing. Once." She burrowed deeper into his side. "And what about the funeral?"

Rick shrugged. "The State pays, but ... they'll treat her respectfully."

Alexis shook her head. "It's still not right."

He hated to see her sad, her normally bright personality submerged into gloom. He stroked her long red hair. "Tell you what, sweetheart. I still haven't decided what to get you for a first night present. How about a new i-player?"

She thought for a moment, then her expression took on a more calculating look. "You know, there is something I'd rather have."

"What? You tell me, and I'll get it. Unless it's Brad Pitt. I'd have to throw your grandmother out of the spare room."

She wrinkled her nose a little. "He's so last year. George Clooney's back in fashion."

"He's older than I am. And he's gone grey."

"So? That only makes him more experienced. And his hair isn't grey – it's distinguished."

He had to smile at her gentle teasing. "Then what?"

"There's a homeless shelter close to where you said they found her. Edna. It's part of the church. Maybe ... a donation?"

He gazed at her, finding himself surprised yet again that he could ever have fathered someone so caring about other people. "That's what you'd like?"

"That's what I'd like."

"Okay, honey. For you."

"Thanks, Daddy." She reached up and put a kiss on his cheek.

He basked in the warmth for a moment, knowing that it was rare nowadays for her to call him anything but 'Dad', but it felt so nice that he wanted it to last forever. "You're welcome."

She got up. "I need to get some sleep. 'Night."

"'Til tomorrow."

She smiled for him and walked out, covering a yawn as she went.

Rick waited until he heard her bedroom door close. He levered himself off the sofa and crossed the study, looking out into the city. His city. The Big Apple. The trouble was, that particular fruit had some parts that were rotten, and it was his and Beckett's job to excise them out.

His breath misted up the glass, and he drew a smiley face in the resulting fog. Not that he felt like smiling much. They were no closer to catching Harland's killer. And Edna Dickson's killer, he reminded himself, feeling a flash of guilt which made him pause. Alexis hadn't asked about Harland, only the homeless woman. It was almost as if she knew Edna didn't have anyone to speak up for her.

Rick turned from the window and the cold night and gazed at his apartment. He had been lucky. He had a very nice place to live, a family, money in the bank, and he was doing a job he loved.

Other people had done their job too. The uniformed officers who had answered the initial 911 call, Perlmutter doing the full autopsy, Ryan and Esposito working hard to try and piece together the motive behind Harland's murder, Kate pulling the facts together and finding a solution ...

Except. Except. Except they'd all forgotten about Edna Dickson. Alexis was right – two people died that night, not just one. And as he stared at the laptop sitting winking at him from the desk, the words You Should Be Writing scrolling across the screen, Rick began to wonder if they weren't looking into the wrong one.