Castle (2009–2016): Season 2, Episode 1 - Deep in Death - full transcript

There are two kinds of folks

who sit around thinking
about how to kill people:

Psychopaths and mystery writers.

I'm the kind that pays better.
Who am I?

I'm Rick Castle.

Castle. Castle.

I really am ruggedly handsome,
aren't I?

Every writer needs inspiration
and I found mine.

Detective Kate Beckett.

Beckett. Beckett.

- "Nikki Heat"?
- The character he's basing on you.

And thanks to my friendship
with the mayor,

I get to be on her case.

I'd be happy to let you spank me.

And together we catch killers.

We make a pretty good team,
you know.

Like Starsky and Hutch.
Turner and Hooch.

You do remind me a little of Hooch.

Sexy, sexy.

Ladies, I love it, I love it. I love it. Sexy.
Sexy's not a crime.

What's
so special about world-famous

mystery novelist Richard Castle?

He's rich, he's handsome, and he's
basing his next best seller on you.

Tell me, Detective Beckett,
what's it like being the inspiration

for thrill-master Richard Castle's
new character, Nikki Heat?

On behalf of the NYPD,

it has been a pleasure to offer
Mr. Castle insight into the profession.

Given all his best sellers, it's obvious

Mr. Castle has tremendous insight
into the criminal mind.

I'm told in many occasions,

his participation was essential
to solving your toughest cases.

Really? You were told that? By who?

- By Castle.
Sexy.

Try unbuttoning his shirt.
Just, just the first one right there.

- Could you excuse me for a moment?
Yeah. I love it.

Sir, could I talk to you in private
for a moment, please?

- Beckett, I have a couple...
- Now.

We had a deal, Beckett.

- The deal is off.
- What's the problem?

Not only does he have
the bachelor-party cop twins out there

using him as a stripper pole
while I make nicey-nice with the press,

- but do you know what he said?
- No.

He said that he has been instrumental
in helping us solve crimes.

- Well, hasn't he?
- That's not the point.

Do you know how hard it is for NYPD
to get good press?

I mean, in a magazine
that people actually read?

This article is very important
to the mayor,

therefore we are going to cooperate.
Do I make myself clear?

Okay. Fine.

It was nice to meet you.

We should have photo shoots
here more often.

Hey, Beckett, how come you don't wear
a uniform like that?

Because I don't wanna
get paid in singles.

Hey.

Oh, hey,
don't we have that thing?

No.

Yeah. You know, the thing with the guy.

- Oh, yeah. The thing with the guy.
- Yeah, excuse us.

I just wanted you to know
I had nothing to do with this.

I mean, it was the magazine.

Well, the mayor thought
it would be good press.

- You don't have to explain yourself.
- Really?

Really. See? I don't care anymore.

Now, if you'll excuse me,
I have an interview to get back to.

What did I do that was so wrong?

The one thing I asked you not to do.

Okay, so you asked me not to look into
your mother's murder.

But look at what I found.

It doesn't matter what you found.
I put that all behind me a long time ago.

We can get back to the interview now.

Nope, you're gonna have to reschedule.
We just caught a body.

- So sorry to step out on you, Amy.
- Oh! Are you kidding? It's perfect.

A chance to see Castle in action.
Our readers'll love it.

Well, we wouldn't want
to disappoint your readers,

now, would we, Detective?

- Hey, can we talk about this, please?
- There's nothing to talk about.

Well, just at least let me know
what I can do to make it up to you.

You could leave me alone.

Yes, well, I tried that, and it didn't work.

Hey, I could buy you a pony!

Focus, Castle. Crime scene, okay?

It's raining men.

Castle, what are you doing here?

Don't worry. We're still mad at him.

A guy in a tree, Mom and Dad
bickering. Seems like old times.

How's it going up there?

I got tree branches poking my boobs
and spotlights shining up my booty.

Could be worse.
You could be wearing a skirt.

When I come down,
I'm gonna smack you.

- I'll be looking forward to that.
- Here.

Vic's a white male, late 30s.
Judging from the cracked branches,

I'm guessing he did a Superman
off the top of that building.

Vic's name is John Allen.
ID has him on the Upper West Side.

- Business card has him in insurance.
- Hmm.

Is it a suicide?

It's not a suicide.

How do you know?

The building is too short. He'd wanna
kill himself, not cripple himself.

If you wanna die, you're gonna aim
for concrete, not a tree.

Judging from the angle of descent,

I'd say that guy
was thrown off the building.

Since it clearly wasn't a suicide,
how did he die?

There are signs of strangulation.
It looks like his windpipe was crushed.

- Any ligature marks?
Nope.

Ligature refers to anything that ties
or binds, like a rope or a belt.

The lack of any marks suggest
he was strangled by hand.

Wow, you really know your stuff.
No wonder they like having you around.

You know what?
He's such an incredible resource,

it seems like a shame to waste
his talents here in the field.

Would you mind going back
to the morgue with Dr. Parish

to see what else you can find out
about the vic?

Don't you think I'd be of more use here
at the crime scene?

Oh, no.
We're just gonna knock on doors

and see what we else can stir up.
You know, boring police stuff.

Fine. But I was serious about the pony.

Come on.
I'll show you the morgue-mobile.

- Anything in the wallet?
- Nope. Dry-cleaning ticket, ID,

two credit cards.
Cash was missing, though.

That's a long way to go for a robbery.

You mean we have to ride
with the body?

- You can take my seat up front.
- You sure?

I'm used to hanging out with stiffs.

Hi.

Uh-uh. You do not get to say hi to me.
I'm just doing my girl a favor.

You, too, huh?

Well, what did you expect?

Beckett spent the first three years
of being a cop

trying to solve her mother's murder.

It took everything that she had
to put it behind her.

You couldn't respect that?

What was I supposed to do?
Not tell her what I found?

What you found?

She didn't tell you, did she?

Three people were killed
the same way her mother was,

right about the same time.

One of them was
a former law student of hers.

Another one, a documents clerk.
The third one, a lawyer for a non-profit.

Wait. The ME at the time
didn't make the connection?

If he did, he buried it.

Did you talk to him?

He died four years ago.

So you see why I had to tell her.

What did she say?

That we were done.
And then she just walked...

- Don't move. Don't move!
- Whoa!

Get the body!

Go! Don't move! Come on, move! Go!

Is it just me,
or was that really, really weird?

Well?
- He'll live.

What, no brain damage?

If he has some,
it happened way before tonight

- and was probably self-inflicted.
- Good times.

- How's Lois Lane?
- Who, reporter chick?

Yeah. We took her statement
and we sent her home.

We got an APB on the sedan,
CSUs are combing the rooftop,

and we got unis looking for
surveillance footage at the crash site.

You know what I don't get is,
who would steal a dead body?

Plenty of people. Organ harvesters,
cadaver-less med students, Satanists,

mad scientists looking to create
their own monster.

Or the guys who killed him
might have left some evidence behind.

Boring. How about a spy having
swallowed a top-secret microchip

that the enemy forces murder him over
before the CIA can get a hold of him?

As much as we all appreciate
your insightful

and incredibly believable theories,

Ms. Cosmo is gone,
so I believe you can go home now.

Home? No. No, no, no. This case
just got good. And I'm a witness.

All right, I'll let you work
this one case with me

if you promise to leave me alone
when it's over

and not to weasel your way back in.

Deal. But fair warning, Detective.
I will make you change your mind.

- I won't.
- You will.

So what's the next step?
Victim's family?

I didn't think she'd take him back.

- Mrs. Allen?
- Yes?

It's about your husband.

He was just right here, just a couple
of hours ago. And now he's dead.

Do you know of any reason
why he'd be in that part of town?

No. His office is in Midtown.
It's nowhere near Ninth.

What time did he leave the apartment?

Around 6:00.
He'd just gotten back from his trip

and he said he needed to catch up
on some paperwork.

He said he'd only be gone
for a couple of hours.

You said "a trip"?

He was in Albuquerque on a training
seminar. It was just two nights.

Did you notice anything unusual
recently? Any strange behavior?

Well, he had to work late
a little more often than usual,

but, I mean, in this economy,
who doesn't?

He had to lay off
half his department last year.

And you're sure he was working late?

What are you saying?
That he was cheating?

Every night,
he would walk through that door,

and the kids would just
race into his arms, okay?

And now he's gone.

So don't ask me
if he was really working late.

Tell me why he was killed.

- He didn't mean to imply...
- What about phone calls?

- Maybe late at night?
- Castle.

Yeah. Yeah. One of the guys
that John fired, Max Haverstock,

he would call him up late at night

and he would yell at him,
all sorts of things.

I guess he was hurting,
he needed money.

And I, I told John that
he should just hang up on him,

and John said no, he couldn't do that.

Did he ever give him money?

My husband didn't believe in handouts.

He believed that a man
should make his way.

Where is he? I'd like to say goodbye.

About that, um...

That was awkward.

It just, it doesn't make any sense.

The guy's got a stable,
middle-class life.

Good job, good family.

Maybe his friend Max was jealous.

Yeah, maybe enough to kill him,
but to steal his body?

Hey, Esposito, I need you to look up
a friend of the vic, Max Haverstock.

Yeah.

Okay, find him and bring him in.

Dad. Thank God you're home.
Are you okay?

Yeah, I'm fine. Why?

"Fine"? Masked gunmen,
body snatchers?

I texted you, like, a thousand times.

I'm sorry. My phone must have
been off. How did you know?

- Beckett called.
- Really?

She just wanted to let us know
you were all right.

Mmm-hmm.

So, has she forgiven you?

Not exactly, Mother.
But I'm working on it.

She has agreed to let me
help on the case.

Well, that's a start, I suppose.

It is more than a start.
It is an opportunity.

She may have built a wall between us,

but I am going to build a door
in that wall,

or put up a ladder, or dig a hole.

- You have a strategy?
- Be my usual charming self.

Uh-huh. What about plan B?

So was it awful? Were you scared?

Me, scared? No way. Come on.

Now excuse me
while I change my shorts.

- Dad.
- No, I was scared,

but all they were after was the body.

- Why?
- Why indeed?

"Dad, where are you?"
"Dad, are you all right?"

"Dad, call us right away."

"Dad, can I go see Fame
with Owen on Friday?"

Your concern is touching.

Okay, that one was after I knew
you were all right.

Yeah, but I thought we were
gonna go see that together.

We were, and we still can.

But he invited me to go see it
with him next Friday.

You'd rather go with your boyfriend
than your dad?

What is wrong with you?

If you really want me to go with you,
I will.

No, no.
You tell Owen he has won this round,

but I got dibs on A Christmas Carol.

Thanks, Dad. And I'm glad
you weren't killed by body snatchers.

Me, too.

They remade Fame
and A Christmas Carol.

Has Hollywood totally run out of ideas?

Well, they just optioned Asteroids,
the videogame, so my guess is yes.

But Ryan Reynolds is playing
the wee triangle, and he's good.

Are you sure this is the guy?

Maxwell Haverstock.
And he confirmed he knew the vic.

This guy couldn't throw a wet sponge
off the roof, let alone a body.

- Mr. Haverstock?
- Yes?

Do you know why you're here?

No, they just told me
I needed to come in.

It's about John Allen.
He was murdered last night.

That's terrible.

- You and he were friends.
- We had adjoining cubicles.

When was the last time you saw him?

Not since D-Day.
That's what we called it.

You know, "D" for "downsizing."

- You were let go?
- Yeah.

I bet that made you pretty angry.

Yeah. Fifteen years
we worked there together, you know.

You'd think that would
mean something.

You think that loyalty
would be worth something.

You know what it's worth?
A kick in the teeth!

- Did you ever call and tell John that?
- Yeah, all the time.

Yeah, I told him we didn't deserve
to be treated like that.

But I promised him
one day the worm would turn,

'cause karma's a nasty little bitch.

Is that why you killed him?

- Who?
- John.

- Why would I wanna kill John?
- For firing you.

He didn't fire me.
We were let go together on D-Day.

Fortunately, I was able
to find another job.

He didn't have a job?

I guess he doesn't have to look
for one anymore.

Hey, yo, Beckett. Story checks.

John Allen was laid off eight months
ago when the AIG crisis hit.

What about Albuquerque?

No record of a John Allen coming back
from any flight in the Tri-State area.

Well, makes you wonder what else
he lied to his wife about.

And how he paid all of his bills.

Beckett.

All right. Thank you.

They found his body. Again.

What happened?

- Someone operated on him.
- Operated?

They cut him open
and took all of his organs out.

Well, somebody hated his guts.

The guys who did this
weren't surgeons.

The cuts are sloppy.
Box cutters and kitchen knives.

Any idea what they were looking for?

I ran a tox screen and found nothing
in the bloodstream.

But in the body cavity itself there were
trace amounts of powder cocaine.

- He was their drug mule.
- Guess they couldn't wait for him

to pass the packets
the old-fashioned way.

I don't buy it.

How does a middle-aged
insurance actuary

with no history of substance abuse,
no criminal record,

become a drug mule?
I mean, this was not a bad guy.

You don't just fill out an ad
on Craigslist.

You gotta, you gotta know people.
Bad people.

As freaky as all this is, let's not forget
it happened post mortem.

The actual cause of death is up here.

Bruise pattern indicates the assailant
strangled him with both hands.

The bruising is a little lighter
right there.

What would account for that?

Dislocated or broken finger, maybe.

Maybe he's fancy. Strangle people
with his pinky sticking out.

Like tea.

Just got off with Homeland Security.
Passport records indicate

that John Allen was coming back
from Mexico, not New Mexico.

No criminal history, healthy,
white, middle-class.

They wouldn't have looked at him
twice at customs.

The guy had skills.
Why would he do something so stupid?

Because he had to.

- I just went over financials with the wife.
- How bad?

They've been living on
credit cards the last six months.

And she had no idea.
She thought everything was fine.

Well, if he wasn't going to work
every day, where was he going?

Applying for jobs.

I found hundreds of cover letters
and r?sum?s on his computer.

I don't understand. Why didn't they
just sell the apartment?

- Wasn't worth the mortgage.
- That's harsh.

Life insurance?

Stopped making payments
four months ago.

The guy was basically worthless,
alive or dead.

Hey, Ryan here.

You know, I get desperation.
I get needing the money.

I even get being a drug mule.

What I don't get is,
where did he get the job?

Yeah, thanks, Bill. That was CSU.

Because our perps
were wearing gloves,

the only prints they grabbed off the car

belonged to the owner
who reported it stolen last night.

Looks like we're not gonna
grab a break on this one.

What about the glove
we found at the scene?

Dusted it, too. Nothing.

Well, did you dust inside?

- Inside?
- Yeah, inside the glove.

You want me to put on some music?

Whenever they do
this sort of thing on CSI,

they always do it to music
in poorly-lit rooms.

It kind of reminds me of porn.

Zip it, Castle.

Ever consider becoming a mohel?

Keep talking and I'll practice on you.

Got you, you son of a bitch.

Boom! Got a hit.

Luther Whitehead, busted twice
for possession with intent,

once on conspiracy.

Pled out on all three.
Did a nickel upstate for a gun charge

and is currently on parole
for conspiracy to distribute.

Something tells me his parole's about
to be revoked. You got an address?

Yeah.

Go!

Hold it right there!
Nobody move!

Hands behind
your back. Hands!

Counselor,
I have them dead to rights

on weapons, possession, assault,

desecration of a body,
and about a dozen other things

I haven't even begun to think about yet.

- What is my incentive to cut a deal?
- You don't have them on the murder.

Give me time.

You don't need time,
because they didn't do it.

Ten years concurrent on all charges,
eligible in five,

and they'll tell you
everything they know.

He was coming to see you.

At a flophouse on Ninth.
He was supposed to be there by 7:00.

But this guy, he got three quarters of
a mil worth of our coke in his stomach,

- and he don't show.
- So what'd you do?

We went to find him. That's when
we heard the sirens. Lots of them.

We go downstairs, walk up the block
and guess what we see?

A bunch of cops staring at a tree.

A frigging tree. The dude was in a tree!

So you waited?

Only way to get the body back.

I mean, we couldn't get the packets
via the usual method.

So you improvised.

Doesn't matter. He was already dead.

- So why'd he start muling?
- Same as anyone. Desperation.

It's just, he doesn't seem the type.

Anybody's the type,
you push them hard enough.

I mean, the guy owed. He was fourth
and long with the clock running out.

Who was he in to?

Didn't say, but he was scared.

You wanna know who killed him,
you find out who he owed.

No, no, no, no. I'm gonna need more.
I'm gonna need to know who vouched.

- Vouched?
- For John Allen. Our vic, your mule.

Somebody brought him to you,
somebody you trusted.

Or do you just do business
with every desperate white boy

with no history of criminal activity?

Hell, man!
How'd you know he wasn't a cop?

Got the printout. Ron Bigby.
He's a floor trader at Goldman.

Vic's wife never heard the name.

For a guy
who assesses risk for a living,

he sure does seem to take a lot of it.

Yeah, well, look where it got him.
Pick him up.

You got it.

Castle.

- Dead?
- Yeah.

- Dead?
Mr. Bigby,

you can ask as often as you like.
The answer's not gonna change.

That is a damn shame.
That is a damn, damn shame.

I mean, do you know
who John Allen is? Huh?

He's the new Willy Loman. Okay?
Everyman victim of an apathetic world.

God, I swear,
someone should write a play.

Hey, do you write plays?

Unproduced.

Mr. Bigby, it's come to our attention
that you recently obtained employment

for Mr. Allen as a drug mule.

- You know about that?
- Yeah. And bad news, Ron.

You're gonna have to find a new dealer.

- What'd they tell you?
- That you got him an introduction,

and that you vouched for Mr. Allen.

Okay, look. He came to me, desperate.
All right?

He remembered a story
I told one night at the table.

- The table?
- Yeah, poker table.

We're in one of the floating games
around town.

You know, small stakes, right,
but a good way to blow off steam.

But then when he got laid off,
it stopped being a game.

He started betting to make up his
paycheck, but the stakes were too low.

So he went to Chinatown.

The mob-run games.

Yeah, Triads. He did fine for a bit,
you know, but luck's a fickle bitch.

He lost more than he had
to the wrong guy.

He couldn't make enough
to cover his losses.

Yeah, that's when he remembered
the night I told the story

about my own fiscal emergency,

about how I went to Mexico
and made 50 grand in one day.

That's when I figured, "Hey,
what the hell. Just pay it forward."

All right, this guy that he owed. Did he
give you a description? A name?

No name. John thought he was Russian
mafia because of all his tattoos.

Some tatted-up Russian mobster
was after me,

I could see taking a job as a drug mule.

A tattooed Russian
in New York City?

Well, that narrows it down.

We conduct an investigation
based on the information we have,

not the evidence we need.

Well, Bigby says that the Russian
hangs out at the club in Chinatown.

Why don't we just go there?

The games are word-of-mouth, bro.
They don't just share with cops.

- Well, luckily, I'm not a cop.
- Castle.

What? It's perfect. I go in, scope
the place out until I ID the Russian.

Hey, you know, that's not a bad plan.

- We still have to find the game.
- Leave that to me.

It's a pretty good story, Ricky.

Yeah, it's got a big opening,
major twist.

Though I gotta say, I saw that whole
"drug mule" thing coming.

Nice try, Connelly.
You're not gonna goad me into raising.

Stephen, you once wrote about an
underground poker game in King Con.

- Yeah.
- And you once had Harry Bosch

investigate the murder
of a poker player.

Yeah, One Dollar Jackpot. Why?

Well, Michael,
this guy that we're looking for,

he's a regular in the Triad-run games
in Chinatown.

I thought maybe one of you knew
someone who could get me in?

What, are you nuts? Those are crooks
and killers down there.

Look, Ricky.
Doing the research is one thing,

but the Russian mafia? The Triad?
You tangle with those people,

and all the best sellers in the world
are not gonna protect you.

I know, I know. I don't plan on tangling.

I'm just gonna be another rich,
bored thrill-seeker

looking to try my luck down there.

- You must really like her.
- Who?

That police detective of yours.
Look, Rick.

There's only one reason that you'd be
dumb enough to go down there,

and that's to impress a girl.

Why don't you cut yourself a little slack
and just buy her some flowers?

Do you know the place or not?

Well?

- Are you sure this is the place?
- Cannell has never steered me wrong.

- Okay. Button cam's in place. Ryan?
- ... In place. Ryan?

- Good for picture and...
- ... Picture and...

Sound.

All right. So remember, we can
hear you, but you can't hear us.

So once you leave this van,
you're on your own, okay?

All right, tell me the plan again.

I go in. I find the tattooed Russian.

I get a clear picture of him,
and I get the hell out of there.

And you don't stay any longer
than you need to.

I'll be fine. Besides, it's Chinatown.

How many Russian poker players
can there be?

Anybody else have a bad feeling
about this?

- Yeah.
- Yeah, that's what I thought.

Go ahead and deal.

One on the rocks.

I'm in.

Tattooed Russian.

There's another tattooed Russian.

There's a whole table
of tattooed Russians.

Apparently, there are a lot more
Russians in Chinatown than I thought.

So, the Russians are regulars here,

but only a handful of them
play at the no-limit table,

which is where John Allen
would have gone.

The guy said they're card bullies,
pushing up pots,

forcing their opponents to bet more
just to stay in the game.

You think he has any idea
he's recapping a conversation

that we just heard in its entirety?

Give the guy a gadget,
he thinks he's Bond.

Let's just hope he remembers
he's wearing a camera

before he goes and takes a leak.

- Why would you even...
- Trust me.

... what kind of trouble
I can stir up.

I'm going to go sit at the table,
see if I can find anything out.

What did he say?

- He just said he's taking a seat...
- That's not the plan.

That's not the plan, Castle!

How's it going?

This is no-limit table.

Which is perfect,
because I am a no-limit kind of guy.

Change for 20,000, please.

No, no, no, no, no, no! No!
What's he doing?

Dropping half my yearly salary
like it was pocket change.

Nice tats.

Tat... No, tattoos. The tat... It's nice.
What do they say?

It says mind your own business
and play cards.

All right. Don't mean to pry.
I'm just... I'm actually just a writer.

I'm just doing a little bit of research.

A writer, huh?

Anything we might have heard of?

Storm Fall, Storm's Last Stand.

- Derrick Storm.
- Yeah.

I love this guy. Why did you kill him?

It's a long story. But I'm working on
a new one about underground poker.

Very hush-hush.

I just kind of came down here to get
a feel for the world, you know?

And you, you want for it to be authentic.

Exactly.

No problem.

Yeah.

Seems like he's making friends.

They just said they're gonna take him
for everything he's got.

What, you speak Russian?

Semester in Kiev
between junior and senior year.

Sometimes, when I am bored,
I go to Glechik Cafe in Little Odessa

and pretend to be Muscovite.

Now, that's kind of hot.

Raise.

Call.

I call.

Check the players' hands.
See if there's anything

that'll explain the bruise patterns
on our vic's neck.

Call.

Mr. Castle, tell me a little bit more
about this book.

Well, it's about a Russian mobster
with a taste for cards.

He preys off of desperation,

luring people into betting
more than they have.

And why would he do this?

Because he's also a loan shark.

See, he fronts his victims
and makes bank on the vig.

- What the hell's he doing?
- He's playing poker.

He's trying to provoke one
of these guys into giving up their hand.

Or he's trying to tip off our killer.

But this one guy,

a family guy, he gets in a little too deep.

He can't pay the loan back.

So the mobster got no choice.

Has to kill him, send a message
to anyone else who owes him.

So one night, he lures him
into an abandoned building,

strangles him to death
and throws him off the roof.

Sounds like lot of work.

Why not just put bullet in his head?

Much more simple.

- Bang.
- Oh, my God.

Hey, Ryan, check this out.
What is he doing with his finger?

Punch in on that.

It's a prosthetic.

That's why it didn't leave a mark
on our vic. That's our guy.

Hey, if he thinks Castle's a threat,

- he's...
- We gotta get him out of there, now.

Their security's pretty well-armed.
We go in as cops, it might get messy.

- What are you doing?
- I'm gonna go in there.

And if I'm not out in 10 minutes,
you guys call for backup.

Can I have my purse, please?

What're you gonna do?
Lip gloss them to death?

Something like that.

Come on, boys.
My boyfriend is waiting.

He is player.
If I don't go inside, he will lose.

I'm his lucky charm, you know? No?

Well, maybe I can be
a lucky charm for you.

We win, and when I'm in there
we always win,

and then maybe I can share some
of my boyfriend's luck with you.

All in.

It's a big pot, Mr. Writer Man.
All that money.

But then what is money
to a millionaire, huh?

You just can write it off on your taxes
as doing research.

All in.

You are like character
in your book, in too deep.

Three queens.

That's very impressive.

Not a lot can beat three queens.

Except an inside straight, maybe.
Sweetheart, this is for you.

Would you change this into something
a little smaller that I can carry?

Now that is a big pile of money.
But what's money to a mobster, right?

Walk.

- Who are you?
- I told you, I'm, I'm a novelist.

The story. The dead man, the roof.
Who told you? Who knows?

His family knows. His children know.

If he paid what he owed,
he'd be home with them now.

But he crossed me.
And now you have crossed me.

- No, no, no, no. I'm just a writer.
- Do not lie! You are cop.

Him, a cop? Don't make me laugh.
He's barely even a man.

- Beckett?
- But you are a man, aren't you?

A very handsome man.

Richard, are you bothering
this handsome man?

Go away.

Okay. Boys and their guns.
Am I supposed to be impressed?

It doesn't concern you.

Actually...

It does.

Is it just my imagination
or did you change?

Castle, could you get
some backup, please?

- Yeah. Yeah.
- Quiet.

Thank you.

This way.

So, how is she?

It's hard when everything you thought
you knew turns out to be a lie.

Well, not everything was a lie.
Not her husband's love.

I mean, sometimes we do
the wrong things for the right reasons.

So our case is closed. I guess your
Cosmo story gets a happy ending.

Speaking of happy endings,
thanks for saving my life.

I was just trying to avoid paperwork.

We make a pretty good team,
you know.

Like Starsky and Hutch.

Tango and Cash.
Turner and Hooch.

You know, now that you mention it,
you do remind me a little of Hooch.

Mmm.

It's because you're afraid, isn't it?

You're afraid that if you look into
your mother's death,

that you'll go back down that
rabbit hole and lose yourself again.

But it's different this time.

We have good leads.
We have strong leads.

And you won't have to do it alone.
We can do it together.

What if I don't wanna know?
Did you ever think of that?

What if I'm not ready?

What if the idea of catching
my mom's murderer

and then having to sit there and watch
as he cuts some deal

that puts him back out on the street
in 10 years makes me nauseous?

You dredged up my past
for you, Castle,

not for me,
and you're too selfish to even see it.

The case is closed, Castle.

We made a deal,
and I expect you to honor it.

- You're writing?
- It's time.

And Beckett?

I'm sorry, Dad.

So how was the movie?

We didn't go.

- Why not?
- Owen.

What happened?

He was playing video games
and lost track of time.

By the time he showed up,
it was too late.

Sorry, sweetie.

And then when he did show up,
he tried to act like it's no big deal.

Like I'm overreacting.
I mean, he didn't even call.

Why do boys do that? Why do they
always have to justify everything?

Why can't they just say they're sorry?

Thank you.

For what?

For just being you.

I'm sorry. What I did was wrong.

I violated your trust,

I opened old wounds,
and I did not respect your wishes.

And if we're not gonna
see each other again,

then you deserve to know...

I'm very, very sorry.

Castle.

I'll see you tomorrow.