Castle (2009–2016): Season 2, Episode 11 - The Fifth Bullet - 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.

- On one knee?
- That's a good girl.

- What's up, Castle? You proposing?
- Oh, no. Just waiting for you.

That's too bad.
You two make a cute couple.

Yeah. Hey,
you think I should get a dog?

What am I, your wife?

- Yeah, you're my work wife.
- No, I'm not your work wife.

I could get a bloodhound.
I could name him Sherlock,

and then I could bring him
to crime scenes.

- No, you couldn't.
- Oh, what? It'd be adorable.

I could get him to wear
a little Sherlock hat,

train him how to carry
a little magnifying glass.

Oh, see? Right there.
Disapproving, judgmental.

You're totally my work wife. Hmm.

- The blood's bold, but it works.
- Not sure he'd agree.

Hmm.

Well, obviously, he was into art.

Victor Fink, 43, gallery owner.
There's no sign of forced entry.

Tenant upstairs called in gunshots
to 911 at 10:14 p. m.

Any idea what he was doing here
so late?

No, but according to his assistant,
Darius Langley, they close at 8:00.

Far as he can tell, there's nothing
missing off the walls or from the back.

- Anything off those security cameras?
- Fake. Not even hooked up.

- Lucky break for the guy.
- Unless he knew.

He had some fight in him. Abrasions
on the forearms, on the hands.

- And then he made a run for the stairs.
- Only to be shot in the back.

Twice, 9 millimeter.

Shooter fired from over here.

Is it possible he might have
been meeting somebody?

Well, if he was meeting someone,
he didn't tell me.

Excuse me for a minute.

He'd already left
by the time I locked up at 8:00.

Mr. Langley?
I'm Detective Kate Beckett.

How long have you been
Mr. Fink's assistant?

Two months. I'm an art student.
I take night classes at Tisch.

- Is that where you were tonight?
- Yeah.

Mr. Fink totally supported me
being in school,

he'd let me leave early to make classes.

That's where I was
when you guys called.

Do you know if Mr. Fink
had any enemies?

Any unhappy clients or artists?

Nothing out of the ordinary.
I can get you a contact list, if you like.

- Yes, please.
- Okay.

- Hey. We got a little problem.
Mmm-hmm?

We dug these two slugs out of the wall.

They're not very fragmented.

See if ballistics can run a match on
any of the other shootings in the city.

Sure, but that's not the problem.
We dug these two out of the wall

and Dr. Parish
has another two in our vic here.

- So, our perp's not a sharpshooter.
- But we've only found four bullets,

and there are 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 shell casings
on the ground.

There's no blood trail
leading out of here.

Exactly. And not a drop of blood outside
of the spatter from our vic here.

- So, there's no second victim.
- So, where's the fifth bullet?

- The bullet was made of ice.
- Okay. Great. Yeah, send her up.

Vic's wife is on her way up.

Fires the bullet,
it melts before we can find it.

An ice bullet! Hello? An ice bullet?
Are you even paying attention to me?

No. You aren't saying anything
worth paying attention to.

Yo. Uniforms are still canvassing,

but so far they still haven't found
any blood trails outside the gallery.

And CSU's re-swept the scene twice.
No sign of our fifth bullet.

I'm telling you. Ice bullet.

Nah, bro. An ice bullet
would still make a bullet hole.

You mean, ice hole.

- What did you just call me?
- Guys. What else?

We checked Fink's cell phone records.
He got a call at 9:19 p. m.,

an hour before he was killed,
from a blocked cell phone number.

Phone records indicate that
the call originated here in New York,

but it was an international cell,
satellite phone,

registered to Bahrain Cellular.

Well, good luck getting a warrant
from the government of Bahrain.

Run down Fink's client and artist list.

See if any of them had international
numbers and watch your mouth.

I'm gonna go 10-1.
- Hey, Ryan. Got a sec?

- Witness?
- Not exactly.

- Hang here, buddy. Okay?
- Of course.

I found him on the canvass,
by the art gallery.

I mean, the guy's got no wallet, no ID.

Okay, did you ask him his name?

Yeah, I asked him his name,
I asked him where he lived.

You know, but here's the funny part.
The guy says he don't remember.

Did my husband have enemies?
Yeah, he had enemies.

Every artist
who couldn't get in his gallery,

and every artist who was in his gallery.

He'd sell, like, five pieces, and they'd
want to know why he didn't sell six.

Mrs. Fink, I know you're upset.

Well, what am I supposed to do
with these, huh?

I didn't want them.
I did them for him, and now he's dead.

Mrs. Fink, can you think of anyone
who would hate your husband enough

to shoot him in cold blood in the back?

- Rocco.
- Rocco. Was that one of the artists?

- His assistant.
- I thought Darius was his assistant?

His old assistant.
Victor fired Rocco a few months back.

- Why?
- He fired that little insect over money.

And, boy, did Rocco go crazy,
making all kinds of threats.

"I'm gonna get you, Fink. "
But you know what, no.

Rocco, he wasn't even a man.
He was more like a flea.

Victor didn't even think twice about it.

You suppose the flea had a gun?
A tiny gun with vanishing bullets?

Ice bullets and fleas with guns?
Do you have writer's block again?

Stephen King wrote stories
of bloodthirsty cars

and sold millions of copies.
I figure, why be limited by logic?

Rocco Jones, Fink's old assistant.

The wife said that Rocco called
and left threatening messages for Fink.

- See what you can find.
- I'm on it.

Hey, what's up with Ryan?

Mugging case.
The guy got hit on the head

and can't remember who he is.

Oh, missing bullets are cool,
amnesia's even cooler.

I'm sure you have better things to do.

I'm sure I do, too.

- An inhaler. You're asthmatic.
- Awesome.

You should probably hang onto that.
Inhaler, grocery bag, keys.

Are you telling me you don't remember,
at all, what any of that's for?

Yeah. How ridiculous is that?

Hey. Hey.

So, has he really got amnesia?

Yeah. But apparently my hearing's fine.

Well, that's good. Richard Castle.

Hi.

I'd introduce myself, too, but...

Yeah, we're just
going through his pockets

trying to find something
that could tell us who he is.

Oh, and apparently
I've been reading, as well.

Ah, Crime and Punishment.
Dostoyevsky.

Classic. You have excellent taste.

Castle.

9 millimeter.
I think we just found our fifth bullet.

You know what, if we got a dog,
I could buy him little saddlebags,

and then he could carry
your books to school,

and you wouldn't have to worry
about getting scoliosis.

Conceptually, I'd like a dog
as much as you would.

In reality, I'm not seeing the guy
whose dishes never make it to the sink

bending over to scoop poop
in Hudson Park.

- I bet I could train him to use a toilet.
- Oh.

- Gram! I thought you were sleeping in.
- I was, just not in my room.

You know what?
We all share way too much.

Oh, I'm sorry, kiddo.
But my happiness cannot be contained.

I'm going to school.

- I'm glad you had a nice date.
- Yes, three, four, five...

I am assuming from this walk of shame,

that you and your
high school sweetheart, Chet,

had a lovely night, all night, talking.

- Among other things.
- Mmm.

It's been a few weeks. Do I need to sit
him down and ask him his intentions?

I am having way too much fun
to worry about his intentions.

Okay, took me
for lovely candlelight dinner,

horse and carriage ride
through Central Park

where we watched the sun rise
over the same boulder

where we shared our first kiss.

Wait, that's still his make-out spot?
Mother, that's a red flag.

Honey, nothing you can say
can spoil this for me.

I haven't felt this way since...
I can't remember when.

Ah, amnesia. It's going around.
Speaking of which, I'm off.

I'd tell you not to wait up,
but clearly there would be no point.

His fingerprints aren't in the system,

and we don't have any hits
on Missing Persons.

This is crazy. We actually find
a witness to our murder,

we don't know who he is
and he doesn't remember what he saw.

- Where are we on Rocco?
- Fink's old assistant?

Uniforms are bringing him in now.

Ballistics confirms that the bullets
came from the same gun as the others.

Whatever happened in the gallery,
he was there.

Not only was he there,
but someone tried to kill him, as well.

Good thing he reads.

Good thing he reads Russian literature.

If the guy was a Nicholas Sparks fan,
he'd be dead.

Have CSU check the coat
for gunpowder residue, blood, fibers.

Maybe it can tell us
what happened that night.

And check photo IDs
on Fink's artists and clients.

- Think he might be one of them?
- A girl can dream.

- I brought you coffee.
- Thank you, Castle.

We all have three different types
of memory.

General knowledge, like language
and facts, is called semantic memory.

Yours doesn't seem to be affected.

Then there's procedural memory,
also often called muscle memory.

That includes any actions or skills
that you've repeated over and over

and formed neural pathways for,
like riding a bike.

Now, I know yours is intact
because you've been walking around.

- So, what's the problem, Doc?
- The problem is in episodic memory.

That's any experience you've ever had,
conversations, movies you've seen,

the people in your life,
even your own name.

So, like, if I were a betting man,
which I have no idea if I am,

would I put my money
on my memory coming back, or not?

There's no way to tell.

You might eventually get it all back,
or none of it. Or anything in between.

Do we know why
this would have happened?

He's got a bump
on the back of his head.

It's usually a blow to the head
coupled with psychological trauma,

- which leads to amnesia.
- Trauma?

You did get shot. Could that be it?

If he believed he was going to die,
then sure.

If we took him back
to the scene of the crime,

could that jog his memory?

Possibly.
But amnesia's a tricky condition.

I'd like to take him back
to Saint Vincent's,

run some tests and scans,
just to be safe.

Of course.
I'll need to ask a few questions first.

Mr... I'm sorry,
I don't even know what to call you.

I don't know what to call me, either.

You said his procedural memory
is intact?

- Yes.
- May I?

Sure.

Just sign at the bottom.

Well, that's freaky.
How the hell did I do that?

- That looks like a real signature.
- Well, it probably is.

You sign your name so many times...

You form neural pathways.
Procedural memory.

So, he can't remember his name,
but he can sign it?

Mysteries of the brain.

It's illegible. Maybe you're a doctor.

His first initial looks like a "J."
Does that ring a bell?

- Nope.
- Maybe we should just call you J.

J. It's as good as anything, I guess.

Do you recognize this man?

- No. Should I?
- His name is Victor Fink.

He owned the art gallery
where you were shot.

- He was there with me?
- He was shot and killed.

Oh, God.

What about this man? Rocco Jones.
He used to work at the gallery.

Guys, I feel so useless.
Look, I'm really...

I'm really sorry. I just don't know him.

After all I did
for you, Fink.

I wasn't just your assistant, man.

I broke the law for you,
and you think you can just fire me?

I should kill you, man.
Just pop you right in the back.

Bang! And you're dead.

Wow.

So, you finally get the courage
to do it there, Rocco?

Dude, come on. I was mad!
I was just blowing off steam.

You said you broke the law for him.
How?

Fine by me, pal. You have a nice trial.

Come on. What...
What the hell are you talking about?

You threatened a guy.
Then he turns up dead. Do the math.

Forgeries.

Fink paid me to paint forgeries
of high-end paintings.

I was struggling, man.
I needed the dough.

- What'd he do with the copies?
- Sold them.

Passed them along to the buyer
like they were the real thing.

Who did he sell to?

Bahir Harun. He's an attach?
at the Bahrain Consulate.

Bahrain?

So, he's the one who talked to Fink
an hour before he was murdered.

Maybe he figured out Fink was selling
fakes and decided to get even.

Doesn't matter.

- The guy has full diplomatic immunity.
- Great.

So, I checked all the photo IDs
of all of Fink's clients and artists.

Our friend J isn't one of them.

Then what was he doing at the gallery?

Holloway called from the hospital.

Aside from a minor head bump,
J's got a clean bill of health.

Well, other than the memory loss.

You know, why don't you guys grab J,
take him down to the crime scene.

See if that sparks his memory.

And get ahold of Fink's
assistant Darius.

Tell him to meet you down there,
with every file he has on Bahir Harun.

- And you're sure I was here?
- Take your time. No pressure.

Isn't this supposed to be
where I get a headache

and flashes of memory
start overwhelming me

until all the pieces come together?

Okay,
you've seen too many movies.

Yeah, that I can't remember.

- Wow. That's very chicken-egg.
- Welcome to my world.

Weird, that someone can just
lose his mind like that.

Are you sure
you don't recognize him?

I don't think so.

But I've only been here a few months.

Anyway, here's everything
I could find on Mr. Harun.

All purchases going back three years.

I still can't believe Fink
was trafficking in forgeries.

Harun's purchases
from Fink.

That's dozens of paintings.

Yeah. And according
to Fink's old assistant, Rocco,

any and all of these
could have been forgeries.

This is a Jules Matterson.
This is worth $ 100,000, easy.

Yeah, but you only pay Rocco
a grand to knock it off.

Fink could've ripped
Harun off for millions.

Who says crime doesn't pay?

Someone took me for that much,
I could see putting a bullet in his back.

Well, that explains why Harun
went after Fink. But what about J?

We need to talk to Harun.

Beckett, I hate diplomatic immunity
as much as the next cop,

but as far as you're concerned,
forget the guy.

I put in an interview request.

Now it's in the State Department's
hands. Period.

Fine.
But, sir, what about the other victim?

- Guy with amnesia. So?
- He has nowhere to go tonight.

Well, turn him over to Social Services.
State's problem, not ours.

I know, sir, but he'll probably end up
in a homeless shelter.

He's a person of interest
and a potential witness.

I would hate to lose him to the system.

Okay.
But my couch is off limits.

Thank you, sir.

It's not The Plaza,

but I have snuck many a power nap
on this couch over the years.

You should sleep just fine.

I'm grateful not to
have to go anywhere with strangers.

It's not a problem.

You know, it's terrifying to think
that someone actually tried to kill me,

and I don't know who it was, or why.
And they're still out there.

That's why we're gonna
catch the bastard.

But to do that,
we need to find out who you are.

So we're gonna
release your photograph

to the media, tomorrow morning.

- What if nobody recognizes it?
- I'm sure someone will.

But what if no one does
and I don't remember?

Then who am I?

I promise you, we won't give up on you.

My science teacher says
that chocolate contains chemicals

that are proven to relieve depression.

Well, it's good, but I prefer grape,
aged, bottled and corked.

You're having an ice cream tasting
and no one called, texted or tweeted?

Gram broke it off with Chet,
so I suggested sugar therapy.

What happened
to sunrise in Central Park?

Who am I kidding? It's a fairy tale.

And what woman
doesn't want a fairy tale?

- He's not who I thought he was.
- How so?

Million different little things.
You know, doesn't drive, he's skinny.

And he has this laugh like...

I can't even do it.
It's like a honking goose, kind of...

These are sitcom reasons
for breaking up.

This morning you were in love.
What possibly could have happened?

Dad, back off. The spark died.
She's obviously reconsidered.

That's right. And now we're going
through the five flavors of grieving.

Is the first stage
accepting the ice cream?

- Exactly.
- Then I'm in.

- Hey! Morning.
- Hey. How was he last night?

He slept like a rock.

Doc Holloway stopped by this morning
to give him a cognitive abilities test.

Scored through the roof
on the quantitative part.

He's good at math,
maybe he was an engineer,

or in accounting or financing.

Or just good at math.

Castle's testing his drawing abilities.
See if he's an artist.

Maybe he was trying to convince
Fink to show his work.

I suppose we should be thankful
he didn't offer to pose nude.

Yeah. Thanks for that.

Hey, any idea if we're gonna
get to talk to that attach?, Harun?

- Radio silence. We gotta ID J.
- Yeah.

Speak of the devil.
- Yeah.

They've been showing it all morning.

- Any calls yet?
- No.

Well, until we figure out who he is,
we've got nothing.

So, what's the verdict?

- Wow.
- You really captured his soul.

Okay, so you're not an artist.
I'm sure you have many other talents.

Just not a talent for remembering them.

That's him. No, no, that's him!

- Oh, thank God.
- Can I help you?

I think we're about to find out
who you are.

Do you recognize her?

Yes, it's him.
- No.

But then again,
I don't recognize myself on the mirror.

- Go ahead, ma'am.
- Thanks.

Joel! Oh, my God!

Tory Westchester. Wife.

I was so scared I lost you. Oh, sweetie.

So, it's true?

- You really don't remember anything?
- He's suffering from amnesia.

I knew something was wrong. I knew it.

- J, are you crying?
- I think I am.

- Do you feel a connection?
- Yeah. It's actually pretty overwhelming.

Of course it is, baby.
I love you so much.

We will get through this,
whatever it takes.

Ms. Westchester, how long
have the two of you been married?

Two years, this past October.

- And you said his name was Joel...
- Joel Westchester.

Oh, honey, look at you.
You do remember me.

Love conquers all!
Oh, it's all gonna be fine.

- Are you okay?
- What is it? What is it, my darling?

I think he's having an asthma attack.

You have an inhaler in your pocket.
Get it.

- Ms. Westchester, do you have cats?
- Eight, like Jon and Kate.

- I think Joel here is allergic to cats.
- Really?

Ms. Westchester, you're not really
married to him, are you?

I could be. I so could be!
Why the hell shouldn't I be?

She's been in and out of mental
facilities for more than 10 years.

Every personality disorder in the book.
Sorry about that.

Just another contestant on
Who Wants To Marry An Amnesiac?

Beckett! Your attach?, Mr. Harun.

He's on his way down.
He agreed to talk.

He just showed up voluntarily?

He wants to stay in control.
- This could be our only shot.

Let's make sure that Harun
gets a good look at our friend J.

Inadvertent, of course.

If Harun thinks that he killed J,

then his reaction could tell us
everything we need to know. Let's go.

Mr. Harun,
you were a client of Mr. Fink's?

That's correct.

You bought a significant
number of works from him.

Yes.

Well, we believe that
many of those works were forgeries.

That's correct.

So, you're saying
that you knew they were fakes?

- Of course I knew.
- And you bought them anyway?

I have many friends back home
whose wives are, how shall we say, um,

demanding.

And what do demanding wives
have to do with any of this?

Well, we all know that the fairer sex
can be shallow.

Not you, of course, Detective.
A smart, liberated, American woman.

But my friends' wives,
they want a bag that says "Gucci. "

They don't care who made the bag,
as long it has that signature.

And it's the same with paintings.

They are more appreciative
of the signature than of the work itself.

And my friends don't always want
to spend top dollar on authentic pieces.

So Victor would commission a copy,
my friends save money, I get rich,

- and the wives get to think they have...
- Hey, move to your left just a drop.

...extravagant artwork on their walls.

Everyone's happy.
- Yeah.

- Yeah.
And no one's broken the law.

Yeah.

So, you only bought fakes
from Fink?

No. He would also source originals
for those husbands with taste.

I was happy to provide...
- He look familiar?

...even though originals pay less.

What with everyone wanting
fair market value and all.

No. Sorry.

The night that Mr. Fink was murdered,

you called him
not long before he was killed.

That's correct, Detective.

He told me to come by,
that he had a painting for me.

I showed up around 9:45,
but he sent me away.

- Sent you away?
- Yes. He was arguing with a man.

- About what?
- I have no idea.

I respected his wishes
and went for dinner at Nobu.

Do you think you could
describe this man?

Please. Must we continue
with this ridiculous charade

when we both know
he is standing right there.

- Now, if that is all...
- Mr. Harun, I'm not quite done yet.

Ah.

But I am. Have a nice day.

Thanks.

For a guy with diplomatic immunity,
he wasn't very diplomatic.

Harun's hiding behind his immunity.
He knows more than he's saying.

Maybe, but his alibi is good.

Nobu has him on security video
entering at 9:55 p. m.,

19 minutes before the 911 call
about shots fired. He's not our guy.

Well, just because
he didn't pull the trigger,

doesn't mean he wasn't involved.

And just because J was shot doesn't
mean he wasn't into something shady.

Could be the reason he was shot.

Harun said he saw J arguing with Fink.

We need to figure out
why J was at the gallery.

And we can't do that
if we don't know who the hell he is.

We've been through this,
it's just a bunch of junk.

But if we take look at everything
we know about him collectively,

maybe a picture will emerge.

Nothing distinctive about these keys.

Yeah, and that plastic bag
really narrows it down.

Okay, he's got asthma,
he's allergic to cats, he reads.

And he's good at math
and he can't draw.

Put it together,
he's your average asthmatic mathlete

with a lot of crap in his pockets.

Detective.
- Thank you.

It's from Lanie.
It's the forensics report on his coat.

Maybe his driver's license
was sewn into the lining.

- Gun powder residue.
- So, he was shot at close range.

Mmm-hmm. Coffee stain,
sugar granules, traces of milk.

We know how he takes his coffee.

- Animal hairs.
- Not cat hairs.

- How could I have missed this?
- Missed what?

- Do you know what this is?
- Yeah, it's a grocery bag.

No, it's not just a grocery bag,

it's the bag that's gonna tell us
exactly who J is.

Why are you dragging me
back to the art gallery?

Not to the art gallery, to the street.

Ah! It's gone.

- What's gone?
- The dog.

That's why he had the bag.
To clean up after his dog.

- How do you know it was his dog?
- Well, why else would he have a bag?

Why else would there be a dog

tied up outside a commercial building
after midnight?

Maybe someone stole it.

Get me Animal Control.

All the canines with ID tags
we picked up in the last 24.

Mostly, their owners
lost them accidentally

and are relieved when we call.

Castle.

Oh.

Who's a good girl?

That one's from 148 West 26th.

- That's Fink's gallery.
- Good girl. Lucy.

Your name is Jeremy Preswick.

We checked it against your DMV photo
and it's a positive ID.

- Jeremy Preswick.
- You are 34 years old,

and you live at 82 Warren Street
in Tribeca.

You don't really have any family.

Your parents passed away
a few years ago,

and you don't have any siblings.

But we did manage to get ahold
of your ex-wife, Emma Carnes.

- Ex-wife?
- Uh-huh.

- I'm divorced?
- Yeah. Sorry.

Your ex sounded pretty concerned,

and we figured
that would be the fastest way

of putting together the details,
which would be great for you

and for our investigation.

If you think it'll help.

An ex-wife that I can't remember.

Hey, some men
would consider you lucky.

- Here you go.
- Thanks.

Hello, Jeremy.

Hey. Thank you for coming.
I appreciate it.

Sure.

So, we're divorced.

Yeah.

Must be weird coming here
to try to help me out, huh?

- A little.
Please take a seat.

So what happened to him?

That's what we are trying to figure out.

Is there anything you can tell us
about Jeremy?

- Well, like what?
- Like where he works.

Well, as far as I know,
he doesn't anymore.

Okay, this is weird
with you sitting right there.

Tell me about it.

You have a PhD in economics
from Wharton.

You had a consulting business
in channel economics and strategy.

You're smart. Like, crazy smart.

- Had a business?
- Yeah, yeah, he sold it last year.

Do you know why?

No. I thought it was weird.
He loved the business.

Why'd we split up?

Wow. I've ranted for hours
to girlfriends about that.

I'm guessing I don't
come off so well in that rant.

You were a jerk.

Ah.

But so was I.

I mean, the truth is
we probably got married too young.

Look, I'm sorry
that I don't recognize you,

but you seem incredibly nice
and you're gorgeous,

and I'm certain
that it was entirely my fault

that our marriage fell apart.

See that.
That's the guy I fell in love with.

- Funny. Sweet. Self-deprecating.
- Hey.

Do you know what Jeremy
had been doing with himself recently?

As far as I know,

he was dating the youngest,
hottest women he could find,

and not bothering
to put the toilet seat down.

And do you have any idea
what he might have been doing

at the Victor Fink Gallery in Chelsea?

No. I'm sorry, but we haven't
even spoken in almost a year.

Well, we're on our way
to Jeremy's apartment

to see if it sparks anything.
Would you mind coming along?

You might be able to put things
in some context.

Look familiar?

Nope. You can say it.
I'm the worst witness ever.

You're doing fine.

Hmm.

A wallet.
Well, I don't think you were mugged.

Do you mind if I poke around,
open some drawers?

Hey, look at that.
Rocking the Spanish.

- Well, we did junior year in Madrid.
- Sounds nice.

Here's the rest
of your Russian literature collection.

You are a very ambitious reader,
Mr. Preswick.

You always wanted more time to read.

Guess I'm gonna have
to start over now.

That's not such a bad thing.

What I wouldn't give to read
The Cask of Amontillado

for the first time.

Or any Stephen King. Ah. Silver lining.

You get to read all my books
for the first time again.

Anything?

It's pretty sparse.

Like a guy
who spent a lot of time alone.

Yeah, I thought
you'd have more of a slick pad.

Done up with more stuff.

Hey. Taglia.
This is a pretty pricey painting.

Emma, do you know if Jeremy

bought that painting
at a gallery in the city?

No. We bought that together
on our honeymoon in Siena.

- I can't believe you still have it.
Why?

Well, part of the divorce settlement
was to sell it and split the cash.

It appraised for over 200 grand.
You sent me my half.

That's funny.

There's something about it
that's so familiar. Or maybe I just like it.

Castle.

It's a 9 millimeter.

Five bullets missing.

So, ballistics confirmed that the gun
found in Jeremy's apartment

was the same one
that was used to kill Fink.

And we just need to know

if it's possible
that Jeremy was the shooter.

CSU did find gun residue on his coat.

Well, that just means
that he was shot at close range.

Like, if Jeremy were holding the gun,
struggled with Fink,

Fink managed to turn the gun around
and it went off.

These abrasions on Fink's wrists
are certainly consistent with that.

Well, then why would he have
left the gun in his apartment?

Doc Holloway said he was probably
in a fugue state, like sleep-walking.

He could have dropped the gun off,
and then went back out again.

Okay, am I missing something?

I thought you're supposed to be happy
after you caught the killer.

Why'd I do it?

We don't know why.
You'll be appointed a lawyer.

I know that Emma
wants to help hire someone,

and I don't think money
will be an issue.

Well, thank you.

I don't know why you're thanking me,
Mr. Preswick.

- We just arrested you for murder.
- Yeah. Well, it's not your fault.

You guys have been nothing
but incredibly nice

to a babbling idiot
who thought he was a victim.

- It's like I tricked you.
- Good luck, Jeremy.

Hey, if you figure it out,
would you let me know?

- Of course.
- I just think it'd be easier, knowing why.

The guy is guilty of a murder
he can't remember.

That just sucks.
I mean, if you're gonna kill someone,

get caught,
spend the rest of your life in prison,

at least you have the satisfaction
of knowing why you did it.

Hatred. Revenge.

Hell, maybe he even cut you off
on the highway.

But Jeremy won't even have that,
even if we do find motive,

because he won't remember
why it meant anything to him.

I'm with you, Castle. It sucks.

- So, what next?
- We submit the paperwork to the DA.

- But the DA will need motive, right?
- Nope. Evidence speaks.

- Smoking gun.
- Don't you want to know why he did it?

Yeah, but the truth is,
is that we don't need it.

The DA doesn't need it.
But you and me?

I know I couldn't sleep last night,
could you?

There's got to be an answer here.

Something in his life
that makes it all make sense.

Hands! Show...

Oh, that gets the heart rate going.

- Ms. Carnes, what are you doing here?
- Getting Lucy's things.

Prescription.
Guess I have custody now.

I'm sorry to surprise you.
We didn't know you'd be here.

- Are you okay?
- Yeah.

I guess I just thought for half a second

that this would be a bizarre
second chance for Jer and me.

- Stupid, right?
- No, it's not stupid.

Then to find out that he's a murderer...

When I saw him again, I...

All those years of petty arguments
that tore us apart didn't seem to matter.

It was like we first met.
You know, I felt that thing.

And then we came here,
and I saw that he didn't sell it

and I thought
maybe he still had feelings for me, too.

Do you mean the painting that the two
of you bought on your honeymoon?

We didn't buy it because we wanted to.
We had to.

We were in the artist's studio in Siena
and Jeremy picked it up off the easel.

He was always goofing around.
The artist went crazy. It was still drying.

We laughed for a week
about our little love smudge.

And then when I saw that he didn't
sell it, I thought maybe...

- But I was kidding myself.
- What do you mean?

No thumbprint. It should be right here.
He sold ours. This one's just a copy.

- Ms. Carnes, are you sure?
- Of course I'm sure.

- It's a fake.
- And we know who dealt in fakes.

That's got to be
Jeremy's connection to Fink.

That's got to be why Jeremy
was at the gallery.

And if Jeremy and Fink
were arguing like Harun said,

maybe it was over the original.

And if that's a fake,
then where is the original?

Absolutely, and... Careful with that one.

- Leaving us so soon, Mr. Harun?
- Oh, what now? I have a plane to catch.

Make any interesting art acquisitions
on this trip?

- Actually, yes.
- Mind if we take a look?

- I'm sorry, I just don't have the time.
- Make time.

What part of diplomatic immunity
are you not clear on?

See, every time you say
something like that,

it makes me think that you
have something to hide.

It's too bad that you will never find out.

- License and registration, please.
- What? Why?

You are double-parked.

This is New York.
Everyone double-parks.

- Is he resisting arrest?
- I believe so. Step over here.

- I'm gonna have to search your car.
- You have no right to do this.

I don't see any diplomatic plates.

And immunity doesn't extend
to a car service.

Mr. Harun, this can go one of two ways.

You can either cooperate
and tell me what I need to know,

or I can call the State Department
and inform them that you have

a piece of artwork that's at the center
of our murder investigation.

And the last I checked,
the New York tabloids

could give a rat's ass
about your diplomatic status.

They'll just print your photograph

with a headline that says,
"Diplomatic Douchebag. "

Fine. What would you like to know?

There's a fake version of this painting

found in one of our shooting
victims' apartments.

- Can you tell us how it got there?
- How would I know this?

Because the fake painting
is where the real painting used to be.

And now you have the real painting.

All I know is I that I asked Fink
to acquire it for client of mine.

When he said he had it,

I assumed he tracked down the owner
and made a deal.

But when I went to the gallery
that evening, he sent me away.

- Just like I told you.
- That's a great story, Mr. Harun.

But if Fink sent you away
empty-handed,

why do you have the painting?

Because I got a call
from a man this morning

that said he had it, for a price.

- Who was it?
- It was Fink's new assistant. Darius.

This is crazy. I told you already,
I was in class when Mr. Fink was killed.

- Nobody remembers seeing you there.
- I sat in the back.

- The naughty kids always do.
- You were at the gallery

the night that Jeremy confronted Fink
about the painting.

Listen, there's obviously been
some kind of misunderstanding.

Was this a misunderstanding, as well?

It's a signed statement from the super
at Preswick's building,

admitting that he took
a $ 1,000 bribe from you

to allow you into Jeremy's apartment so
that you could switch out the paintings.

I'm sorry.
Should've come clean from the start.

Fink wanted the painting.

He told me to buy it from Preswick,
but the guy wouldn't sell.

So Fink had me paint a fake

and, yeah, I bribed the super
to switch it with the real thing.

It was stupid,
but Fink threatened to fire me if I didn't.

It was all you, Darius.
You switched out the paintings,

you pocketed the money
that Fink gave you to buy it.

It was Fink. He manipulated me.

No. That is just a lie.
And you know what else is a lie?

Your name.
Darius Langley is your roommate.

Pretty smart using his identity
to land a job at the gallery.

Well, I guess it'd be pretty tough
to get hired

with two felony counts
of counterfeiting now, isn't it, George?

You got
quite a rap sheet, Mr. Heller.

Hmm. One more strike,
you go away for a long time.

Which is why you couldn't afford
Preswick calling the cops

when he found out the truth.
So you shot him.

And then when he went down,
you shot Fink, as well.

Think you're gonna pin
this murder on me?

No way.
You don't got jack.

Read carefully.
You bribed the super twice.

And the second time was four hours
after Detectives Ryan and Esposito

brought Preswick to the gallery and you
realized that he had lost his memory.

You planted the gun.

Swing and a miss. Strike three.
You're out.

Ah. It's a beaut.
- Isn't it?

- I especially love the fingerprint.
Me, too.

Even if I can't remember,
it still somehow feels a part of me.

Hey, Jer. Ready to rock?

- Thanks for coming.
- You remember Lucy?

- No.
- She certainly remembers you.

Well, hey, thanks, guys.

You made getting arrested for murder
really not so bad.

- Thank you.
- Mmm-hmm.

- So are you two gonna...
Castle.

It's okay. The answer is, who knows?
I like him and he likes me.

- And right now, that's enough.
Well, see you.

I guess if I ever lose my memory again,
I'll know where to come.

- I...
- Thanks. Later.

Thanks again for coming.
Of course.

Hey.

One of them has 15 years of baggage.
Marriage. Divorce.

The other's on a first date.

- How long you think that'll last?
- Hopefully for a long time.

Why, Detective Beckett,
I had no idea you were a romantic.

I also sleep with a gun.
Bet you didn't know that either.

How about you, Castle?
How long you think it'll last?

Well, I guess it's just the writer in me,
but I'm hoping for a happy ending.

Ooh! Well, well, well. Look who's doing
the walk of shame now.

- I was with Beckett.
- Really?

- Uh, wrapping up a case.
- Ah.

Well, you should kiss that girl
while you're both young.

What's going on with you?
What do you got there?

- Oh. It's from Chet. Isn't it romantic?
- Chet sent you a dead flower?

It is the most romantic thing
that anyone has ever done for me.

I've been up all night,
so I might be a little slow.

Well, it's from the boutonniere
I gave him, prom night.

He saved it, tucked it into a yearbook,

and he sent it over last night
with a note saying,

would I give him a second chance?

Well, there's a lot of that
going around these days.

And I'm scared.
I mean, what if it doesn't work out?

- What if it does?
- That's the cost of living.

I just don't want to ruin this.

This is dead. You are not.

Time to start making
some new memories.

- Boy, how did you get so smart?
- It must be my dad.

Look at you... Dad.