Hey!
Okay
You're supposed to be my friend
Oh, my God.
This is quite possibly the worst coffee I've ever tasted.
It's actually kind of fascinating. It tastes like a...
Hmm.
It tastes like a monkey peed in battery acid.
Try some?
Don't you have a book coming out today or something?
Yeah. So?
So, you are watching me do paperwork.
It's creepy. Don't you have somewhere else to be?
I like it here.
Oh, my gosh! I get it. You're hiding.
Your book is coming out today, and you are hiding.
No. Hiding would be building a fortress out of my comforter
and then downing a fifth of Scotch, but apparently that's considered unhealthy.
I thought that you don't care what people think.
I don't.
Much.
Beckett. Yeah. Right. On my way.
Dead body? Yes!
I've set it up.
- This the guy? - You heard, huh?
Oh, everyone's heard.
You really basing your next character on Detective Beckett?
Every artist needs a muse.
Call me a muse again, and I will break both your legs, okay?
- Okay. - Detective Beckett.
Jack Lifford and Hall Morrison.
While moving in, they see a rolled-up rug sticking out of a dumpster.
They figure it's their lucky day.
They bring it home, only to find there's a prize inside.
Dead guy in a rug. Naturally, we thought of you.
Yeah.
38-caliber. Close range. Killed him instantly.
You got an ID?
No, pockets were empty. No wallet. No keys. No jewelry.
We figured a robbery gone wrong.
- This wasn't a robbery. - This wasn't a robbery.
I rob someone, I'm not gonna stick around
to wrap him up, throw him away.
Blood splatter indicates
he was standing near the rug when he was shot.
Where'd they find this?
East 3rd, about two blocks away.
All right. Let's get CSU on the rug. Fibers, blood, identifying marks.
And let's get a team down to the dumpster,
see if they can dig anything else up.
Lanie, you do what you can about an ID.
- Got it. - Don't bother.
I know who he is.
- You got something? - Jeff Horn, 48.
- Two-term city council member. - Friend of yours?
I recognize him from the bus ads. He's running for re-election.
Press is gonna be all over this. Does he have a family?
Yeah.
Well, let's try to notify them before the jackals do.
Mrs. Horn, I know this is difficult,
but when was the last time you heard from your husband?
I called him last night, around 11:00.
He was finishing up a fundraiser and heading back to the office.
- Did he always work that late? - During elections.
He believed that it was a politician's obligation
to get the people's work done
even while running for office.
And when he didn't come home?
Well, it wasn't unusual for him to crash
on his couch instead of coming home, but...
When Frank called this morning...
Frank?
Frank Nesbit.
Jeff's campaign manager.
How did your husband sound last night?
- What do you mean? - Did he seem
troubled, like there was something wrong?
No, he seemed happy.
It doesn't make any sense.
He's a good man, and he's a good father.
And every day he would go out there and try to make this city a better place.
Every day!
And for him to die like this?
Oh, no, what am I supposed to tell my girls?
You okay?
Yeah. Why?
Can't be easy, breaking that kind of news.
Yeah, well, thanks for not making it a joke.
Hey, I'm a wise-ass, not a jackass.
I didn't know there was a difference.
So, what's your next move?
Last person to see him alive?
Establish a timeline? Grab a donut? More really bad coffee?
This female detective of yours, exactly how much will she be based on me?
Well, she's not too bright, and kind of slutty.
Right, so was that wise-ass or jackass?
Actually, that was jackass.
No, honestly, you're not gonna have
anything to be embarrassed about.
She's gonna be...
She's gonna be really smart, very savvy, haunting good looks,
really good at her job... And kind of slutty.
- Castle... - I should really get that.
- Hello? - Oh, sweetheart, I...
Oh, Mother, slow down. What's wrong?
And I just wanted to make sure you were all right.
Why wouldn't I be all right?
No one is buying your book.
What are you talking about?
I am standing in the middle of the bookstore,
and no one is buying your book.
Okay. What are you doing in a bookstore?
I was hungry. I came in for a pastry.
And there they were, all your books, just sitting there.
Mother, they only just went on sale two hours ago.
What did you expect? A line out the door?
There was one for the last Harry Potter.
Yes, well, Derrick Storm is not Harry Potter.
Clearly.
No one's bought one?
Hang on, kiddo, hang on.
No.
- You okay? - Yeah.
I don't care if it was free.
Even if you pay me, I'm still not gonna take that rug.
You're telling me you've lived in New York your whole life,
and you've never scored a piece of road kill?
"Road kill?"
It's an accepted practice, bro.
You're done with your old stuff,
you leave it on the street for those less fortunate.
Artists, students, former hedge fund managers.
It's trickle-down economics at its finest.
Yeah, well, I prefer not to be trickled on.
You know that red couch I have? The one you like so much?
Don't you say it, bro.
54th and Lex.
That's gross. Gross.
We are never playing Madden at your place again.
- Detective. - Yeah?
You just got in there.
- Jeffrey Horn. - Nice work, Scott.
Yeah, Esposito.
No, run LUDs on his phone, see if he talked to anyone other than his wife.
They found the wallet. Money and credit cards were gone.
Anything from the neighbors?
The usual. Wailing cats, loud TVs, car alarms.
No shots, though. And no blood spatter.
A real robber would have left the wallet where he killed the guy,
not where he moved him.
It's a sloppy cover-up, but it does tell us one thing.
This was premeditated.
Excuse me. Detective Kate Beckett, NYPD.
We're looking for Frank Nesbit, Horn's campaign manager. Thank you.
- Ryan, could you give us a minute? - Sure.
We've called in grief counselors for the kids.
I know it's cliché, but he meant a lot to all of us.
Well, it sounds like he was more than just a candidate.
We were friends. We wanted to change the world.
- Were you with him last night? - Yeah.
Until about, I don't know, 11:00.
I offered to share a taxi, but he wanted to walk.
And where was the fundraiser?
Marconi's. 83rd, off Broadway.
- That's just a dozen blocks from here. - Yeah.
Mr. Horn's body was found all the way downtown.
Did he have any enemies?
Well, he was a politician.
What about his opponent?
It's hard to imagine Jason Bollinger doing something like this.
He is eight points up in the polls.
Did Horn or the campaign receive any threats recently?
Just your usual crackpots, nothing special.
Unless you count hate mail from Calvin Creason.
Creason, the hotel and club owner?
Owns Axium and the Soho Majestic.
Even ran Club Tasty, back in the day. There was this one time...
Story for another time. What did Horn do?
Crack down on the ecstasy dealers?
Creason bought that old meatpacking warehouse
on the Lower East Side.
He wanted to turn it into his next hip hotspot.
300 rooms, sake bar, nightclub.
Neighbors didn't want a bunch of drunken
B&T'ers running through the streets, so Horn killed it in committee.
Leaving Creason with millions of dollars of now-worthless real estate.
Creason had a beef with Horn. It doesn't mean he killed him.
It doesn't mean he didn't. Excuse me.
You wanna know what I did when I found out that he was dead?
I ordered myself an ice-cold bottle of Cris
and toasted the sweetness of the universe, okay?
That's pretty callous, Mr. Creason.
Listen, what do I care? What do I care?
This guy was such a putz, acting like another hotel going up,
that was gonna be the end of the world.
Do you have any idea what one of my properties does for the local economy?
This city should be paying me, not stopping me.
So, I guess we could say you had motive.
Who the hell is he? You a cop?
- I say we arrest him. - Castle...
For what... Please. You got nothing here.
If I was gonna go around killing everybody that ever got in my way,
there would be bodies stacked higher than the Chrysler Building.
I don't need to kill anyone to bury them.
Where were you last night?
I was at my club in Soho.
Anybody see you?
Detective, when I go out, everybody sees me.
Thank you very much, Mr. Creason.
Sure.
I wanna take a shower.
- Where to next? - To check his alibi.
Actually, that may not be necessary.
Why not?
Castle, what are you doing?
Promise not to hate me.
- I already hate you. - Fair enough.
This morning, with the body, I took a couple of pictures.
You took photos of my crime scene?
Before you get mad, I e-mailed a couple of them to a friend of mine.
- You e-mailed them to a friend. - Well, not exactly a friend.
She's my interior decorator. But then we slept together,
so I don't really know what she is now.
- What the hell were you thinking? - I know, right?
You work together, you think it'll be fun, but then it always makes things weird.
It's a real cautionary tale.
I'm talking about the photographs. Of the body.
What? No!
I didn't send her pictures of the body. I sent her pictures of the rug.
I thought maybe she might be able to tell me where it came from.
And guess what? She did.
That's the rug.
That's the same rug.
Don't gloat, okay, 'cause it's really unattractive.
Now can we arrest him?
- I feel you, man. - Yeah, okay.
He didn't arrive at the club until after midnight.
So what do we do now? Wait for his lawyer to show up?
Actually, we follow other leads. It's something that we call "working."
Other leads! Good. Since we both know he didn't do it.
Creason? What makes you think he didn't do it?
Isn't it obvious? All the evidence points to him.
And that somehow makes him not guilty?
- He's totally the red herring. - The red herring?
An innocent character who appears guilty.
I know what a red herring is, Castle.
It's a literary device used in literature.
In real life, we don't dismiss a suspect just because he appears too guilty.
Besides, I thought you wanted to arrest him.
Yeah, because he's a tool, not because he's guilty.
The guy's a multimillionaire. He's not gonna be dumb enough
to wrap a dead body up in his own rug.
It doesn't matter. Those rugs were custom-designed for Creason's hotel,
so we know he's connected.
- Hey, Esposito! - Yeah.
See what you can find on that rug.
If one went missing, what room it's from, and maybe who had access.
- Yeah. - Thanks.
Road trip.
You're very good at bossing men around.
I've noticed.
You're telling me that it's just a coincidence
that a man whose murder you celebrated by drinking champagne
was found wrapped in a rug from your hotel?
There are identical rugs in every room of the Axium.
You can't expect my client to be responsible for their whereabouts.
Sure I can, until a jury tells me otherwise.
You are wasting my time.
Detective, look, I told you exactly what I was doing last night.
Right. You were at the club.
They said that you made quite the entrance.
Supermodel on each arm.
Yeah. You know, the last time I checked, it's not a crime, is it?
No. But you know what it is? Memorable.
Witnesses don't place you at the club until 1:00 in the morning.
And Horn was murdered somewhere between 11:00 and 12:00.
Here it comes, and...
So where were you between 11:00 and 12:00, Mr. Creason?
Booyah.
I was asleep.
Asleep? You are lame!
You are so lame! You're Lamey McLamester.
You're so la-la-la-lame!
It's a well-known fact that Mr. Creason
sleeps from 6:00 p.m. To midnight
in order to maintain a late-night presence at his clubs.
Did anyone witness you sleeping
between the hours of 11:00 and 12:00 last night, Mr. Creason?
- Creason... - Hold on one sec.
No.
So you had motive and opportunity.
Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait. Hold on one sec, hold on.
I didn't kill him, I had no reason to.
He was in your way.
Yeah, but not for long.
I knew he was gonna lose the election, okay?
So I didn't have to kill him, all I had to do was wait.
You couldn't be sure that he was gonna lose the election.
Yes, actually, I could.
What do you know about Jason Bollinger,
Horn's opponent in the race?
- Is the statement ready? - Mike's still working on it.
Well, tell Mike that the Ledger website updates in 20 minutes
and I want my quote of outrage and sympathy in the damn article.
I'm sorry, it's been all hands on deck since we found out.
If you don't handle these things right, you get crucified.
- Mr. Bollinger, I was... - Mr. Bollinger's my father.
- Call me Jason. - Okay, Jason.
How well do you know Calvin Creason?
Oh, he threw me a couple of fundraisers. We met a few times. Why?
Well, he seems to think that you have some information on Horn.
Something that would guarantee you the election.
- Castle? - Sorry.
- Come on. - Opposition research?
Conducted by a licensed private investigator.
Listen, I want to stress that everything we did
was completely vetted by our lawyers.
None of it was illegal.
We were just trying to determine if the councilman
had any significant vulnerabilities.
- And you found some. - Oh, yes.
Look, politics is politics, but I'm not a bad guy.
I figured as long as I was ahead in the polls, there was no reason to use it.
That's Councilman Horn?
And that is not his wife.
I gotta hand it to Councilman Horny.
He is incredibly flexible for a guy his age.
Look at that. You ever do that?
- Would you put those away? - I'm just saying
he's gotta do yoga or Pilates or something.
Why is it always the "family value" guys
that get caught with their pants down?
'Cause the universe loves irony.
And because most people are hypocrites.
And what was that girl thinking?
That he would leave his wife and kids for her?
- That is so sexist. - How is that so sexist?
You assume that just because she's a woman,
that she was after a relationship.
Did you ever think maybe she was in it for the sex?
Yes, I did. And then I saw him.
What was it that turned you off? That he was wearing a rug?
Too soon?
I just hope that the PI can help us.
- Beckett. - Yo!
So the rug is a dead end.
According to housekeeping, they dumped
a couple dozen of them last week.
Half of them went into the dumpsters,
half of them were donated to thrift shops.
No, I already have a boyfriend.
Creason's clientele is known for being hard on rooms.
- Right there. Do it. - Yeah.
It's fine. What?
Dude, dude! Not cool, not cool!
So, you have my card.
My personal cell phone's on the back if you have any more information...
Are you sure I can't tempt you?
No thanks, Mr. Kirby. I'm on duty.
Never stopped me.
You were on the job?
Twenty years out of the 134.
Of course, back then, we had other cops as partners,
not second-rate novelists.
Yeah, don't get me started.
Excuse me. "Second-rate"?
"Hot lead poured out of cold steel"? Come on, it's not exactly Shakespeare.
Will you put that down?
How long were you working for the Bollinger campaign, Mr. Kirby?
Oh, a couple weeks. But it was a fun one.
Mr. Family Values tells his wife that he's gonna work late,
probably crash at the office.
Twenty minutes later, he is "polling his constituency."
What about the girl?
What I could see, she was worth every cent.
- She was a pro? - You don't think with a body like that
she's gonna swoon over his stump speeches, do you?
Makes you wonder what else he had a taste for.
And what it led to. Do you have an address?
Strictly outcall.
You know, whores used to have street corners,
and now they have websites.
Damn! Those are some seriously fine five-star class-B misdemeanors.
Dude, between you and me, you ever pay for it?
Are you counting my marriages?
Wait, stop! That's the girl in the photos.
Look at her. If I had your money...
This isn't phone sex, Ryan.
You don't just pay for the two minutes that you used.
The 800 number is registered to a PO box from out of state.
We're gonna have to get cyber to track down the IP, see where it's hosted.
Well, what if the IP's out of state, too?
We just coordinate with local PDs.
If they're willing to cooperate.
Sites like these are designed to evade authorities.
We'll get there. It'll just take us some time.
Or you could just do it the easy way.
VIP Liasons.
Castle, what are you doing?
Hi! My name's Richard.
I'm a very generous man
looking to arrange a very special date with Tiffany.
Just give me a call on my phone, which is 347-555-0179. Thank you.
Castle, you can't just call and arrange a date with a prostitute.
- Why not? - Because we're the police.
No, no, no, no. You're the police.
I'm just a lonely upscale gentleman looking for a date. Bet I find her first.
Is there a Rick Castle here?
Right here.
- Where do you want it, boss? - Straight through there.
Castle?
- You are gonna love this. - No, I'm pretty sure I won't.
Guys, guys, guys.
Yeah, just put it right over there.
Perfect. Lift with your knees, man. Stay here for one second, would you?
Because you guys have been so wonderfully hospitable to me,
I just want to return the favor.
And because your coffee is basically crap, I got you an espresso machine!
How cool is that?
I think my phone's ringing.
I don't know how to put this together.
That's part of the delivery, right? Excellent.
This is a love song you'll never hear
I don't get it.
If Creason didn't do it, then how does the rug fit in?
Killer probably heard about the feud between the two of them
and tried to shift suspicion.
Which is stupid, because without the rug,
it would've just looked like a mugging gone wrong.
So, by trying to look smart, they were actually being stupid.
I think you just described the human condition.
Speaking of the human condition, how's it going with Detective Beckett?
- What do you mean? - Oh, come on, Dad.
You are basing a character off her.
And you always say, you have to love your characters.
Well, she is a character. But just research. Nothing more.
- Yeah, I'm sure. - Well!
Found out why your books aren't selling. Listen to this review.
"His work has become so hackneyed, so cliché,
"that we wonder if Mr. Castle has anything new to say.
"It appears the magic, if there ever was any, is long gone."
Oh, darling, I know it's awful. It's awful. I'm sorry. Daggers to the heart.
The Syracuse Times-Reader?
But don't you worry. I am going to write them a piece of my mind.
And who cares if they say the magic is gone?
Harper Lee only wrote one book. You've written dozens.
Of course, hers was literature, but still, I...
How long do you think it took her to find that review?
- Probably all afternoon. - Oh, yeah.
Oh, come on. You know she does it out of love, right?
I mean, she thinks it's her job to keep you grounded.
Well, I certainly feel ground.
You have the Bridge, Number One.
- Hello? - Is this Richard?
Yes, it is. Who's this?
It's Tiffany. You called me for a date.
Yes, I did, Tiffany. And I am so glad you called.
Just out of curiosity, what are you wearing right now?
Hey.
Damn, girl. You scared me.
Lanie, you're surrounded by corpses.
Yeah, I don't expect the living after 7:00.
Funny. Neither do I.
I'm an ME. What's your excuse?
- Oh, don't be mean. - You deserve it.
Getting a drink with me after work
instead of getting your freak on with writer-boy?
Yeah, well, he is annoying,
self-centered, egotistical and completely...
Fun?
And take it from me, girlfriend, you need some fun.
I mean, how bad can he be?
Beckett.
Guess who's got a date with a prostitute!
Richard? I'm Tiffany.
It's a pleasure to meet you, Tiffany. Please.
Wow. A gentleman.
- We're a dying breed. - Well, then it's lucky I found you.
Actually, it's lucky we found you.
Detective Kate Beckett. We need to ask you some questions
regarding your relationship with Councilman Jeff Horn.
Sorry.
He was one of my regulars, but I swear I had nothing to do with his death.
How often did you see Councilman Horn?
Once, maybe twice a week. At first, he just wanted to talk.
Right. He paid you just to talk.
Detective, most men come to me because they're lonely,
because the people in their lives don't listen anymore.
The sex is just a way for them to feel connected again.
Okay, when was the last time that you and Councilman Horn "connected"?
Couple of weeks ago.
He came to me, hysterical. He said that he couldn't see me anymore.
What happened? His wife find out?
without the campaign finding out.
Politics, escorts and blackmail. This just keeps getting better.
The councilman was looking for his blackmailer. What if he found him?
He gets violent, the blackmailer responds.
And then tries covering what he's done by implicating Creason.
So all you need to do is find your blackmailer.
That's impossible. I kept those photos under lock and key.
No offense, Jason, but your desk isn't exactly Fort Knox.
If somebody knew about them, they wouldn't be difficult to get.
Do you know how many people are in and out of this office?
- No, but I would like a list. - Now, wait a minute.
You intend on opening up an investigation on my campaign
with two weeks left in the election?
What are you trying to do, cost me the race?
What are you worried about? You're running unopposed.
Not anymore.
Laurie Horn announced that she's running for her husband's seat.
Yesterday, I had an eight-point lead.
With the sympathy bump, by tonight we'll be tied.
that we cannot let our personal tragedy
stand in the way of my husband's vision for the future of New York.
Irony is that if I release those photos now,
the people will love her even more.
At least 300 people had access to those photos.
Are you planning on questioning all of them?
No, they're just for reference.
Horn was worried he couldn't keep paying
without the campaign finding out.
- So? - So, if the money was coming
from the campaign, then there's bound to be a trail.
Blackmail.
We believe he may have been making payoffs through the campaign.
I've known Jeff for years. He's a good man. A family man.
- You had no idea? - None. If this gets out...
Mr. Nesbit, if he used campaign funds to make payments,
then we should be able to trace them back to the blackmailer,
but we need access to your campaign ledgers.
Yeah, of course. I'll get you a disk.
Look, Detective...
What he did was wrong. I'm not excusing it.
to all the good he did in this city,
not to mention causing immeasurable pain to his family.
These photos are evidence in a murder investigation.
We have no intention of releasing them.
Oh, thank God for that.
But you should be aware that, one way or another,
these sorts of things inevitably see the light of day.
You got something against foamy richness?
Yeah. It annoys me.
Detective Beckett, we cross-referenced Horn's campaign payouts
to the volunteers and employees at Bollinger's office.
- And? - There were a series
of off-book payments totaling 30 grand,
routed bank-to-bank with no payee, just an account number.
Were you able to track down the account?
Oh, yeah. It's Bruce Kirby.
That PI that took the pictures. He is your blackmailer.
- Did you run him up? - Of course. Real peach.
Lost his badge for excessive force. On probation for criminal intimidation.
And he has registration for a. 38.
Same caliber that killed Councilman Horn.
- Oh, that's good. - That's the stuff.
Yeah.
- It's good, man. - Flavor country.
What? I figured, I got the photos.
The gutless punk isn't gonna use them, why the hell shouldn't I?
Because it's illegal.
Hey, I'm not the one that was dipping my churro in sugar
nearly half my age. The guy had it coming.
Except he found you out. He came after you.
- Yeah. - So what happened, Kirby?
He lose his cool? He get violent?
- What? No. - You put a round in his head
and tried to pin it on Creason.
Whoa, whoa, whoa, Sherlock, I didn't kill him.
He was coming to meet with me, yes. With a proposition.
He wanted to know what it would take to make it all go away, forever.
What did you tell him?
Well, I thought, "What the hell?" 250,000.
I never thought he'd say yes. He did. He got the money.
The night he was killed, he was coming to meet me with it.
He never showed.
What do you think?
Waiting to receive a blackmail payoff from the vic?
My three-year-old son could come up with a better story than that.
It's so bad it might be true.
Yeah, well, we got a team tossing his place for the weapon.
Book him on the blackmail till we see what the search turns up.
In the meantime, follow the money. If this bozo's telling the truth...
Then Horn had a quarter-million dollars on him when he was killed.
Yeah, so where's the money?
And where does an underpaid public servant get it from in the first place?
Well, he'd go where all politicians go.
To people who like him, people who gave him money before.
Hey! Hey! Can I go home now?
What happened to Jeff Horn was a tragedy.
Not just for his family, but for all of us he served.
And even though violence stole his life, his wife is here with us today,
refusing to let violence steal his dream of a better New York.
Ladies and gentlemen, Laurie Horn.
Thank you. Thank you so much.
We all know it should be my husband speaking with you today.
It should be his calming voice, not mine that you hear.
This is a city council race, not the US Senate.
We rely on thousands of small donations, not a few big ones.
Well, some of them must have deep pockets.
Well, the depth of those pockets is limited by the law.
And if it wasn't limited by law,
did Horn have any supporters that would be willing to go the extra mile?
Detective, with all due respect,
there's no way in hell I'm helping you
start a witch hunt against our top supporters.
Now, you want to go through our campaign contributors? Fine.
That's a matter of public record.
But anything else and you're on your own.
- Over this way. - Thank you. Yes?
- Hey. - Hey.
- Finished your homework? - Yeah.
- You wanna finish mine? - Well, that depends.
How much you offering to pay me?
- Oh, I taught you well. - Gina called.
She wanted me to remind you about the reading and book signing
- at Broadway Books tomorrow night. - Oh, that was nice of her.
Yeah. And if you don't show, she will,
"Drip honey on your eyeballs and let loose 100 fire ants."
Okay. What's worse? 100 fire ants on your eyeballs
or reading to a crowd,
"Prose so bad, it sent me screaming out into the snow."
You know, if you really want to feel sorry for yourself,
you should read the review in the Ledger.
Really? What's that damn liberal elite media saying about me now?
"Richard Castle's stirring finale reminds us what good pulp fiction is all about.
"It makes us desire a world of startling imperfection,
"so we can rise above and become the heroes
"we always imagined ourselves to be."
It used to be such a good paper. To see it fallen so far, it's sad, really.
Shut up! I'm proud of you.
Well, you remember that next time I sing the peanut butter song
in front of your friends.
- Have you caught the killer yet? - No.
Hey, if you were in a lot of trouble
and you needed a quarter of a million dollars, where would you get it?
I'd just ask you.
- Night. - Good night.
I'd just ask you.
- Hi! - Hi.
There's something I need to show you.
I found this in the archives from his first run for office.
See, Horn wasn't wealthy, but his wife came from money.
She tapped into her family trust to finance his first campaign.
All this time we thought that Horn was hiding his affair from his wife.
Yeah. But what if she knew about the affair?
What if he got the blackmail money from her?
Yes, ma'am. Account number 737-88103?
According to the administrator of the family trust,
Mrs. Horn marketed about 300,000 worth of stocks last week.
She knew.
Bank records indicate the funds were withdrawn
two days before the exchange.
Her husband's killed. $250,000 goes missing. She doesn't say a word?
Of course I didn't say a word. It's none of your damn business.
Despite the fact that it could have had significant bearing
on your husband's murder?
I have a family, Detective Beckett.
Their father is dead.
What use is dragging their names through the mud,
providing fodder for late-night comedians?
When did you know?
The trust called to confirm the stock sale.
My wonderful husband forged my signature on the papers,
thinking I would be too stupid to notice.
And when I confronted him, he claimed he needed the money for tax reasons.
Reasons that I wouldn't understand. But I understood, all right.
Everything that I wanted, everything that I wanted us to be,
and he can't keep his fly zipped.
So what did you decide to do?
Between public humiliation and blackmail,
I chose blackmail, and I told him to make it go away.
So, what do you think happened that night?
I don't know.
Okay. So, that night, when he called, what did he actually say?
That he had the money. That he was going to meet the guy.
And that was the last thing he said to me.
And God knows what happened after that.
And you're sure that he had the money?
Yes. Why?
- Because we found it at your house. - My house?
The search warrant was served this morning.
Your housekeeper was very cooperative.
If your husband had the money when he was killed,
how did it get back to your house?
You were more than angry, weren't you? You were outraged.
He didn't just betray you, he humiliated you and everyone was going to know.
And so you just decided to make it go away.
You see those wives in the inevitable press conference,
standing stone-faced next to their men and you think,
"How do they do that? How do they just stand there?
"How do they watch as their whole world melts into a spotlight of shame?"
And so you killed him.
No. No. I was home.
You called your husband at 11:00 p.m. What did you say?
I was with my daughters.
Conspiracy to commit murder is the same as murder,
whether you were there or not. Are you ready to deal?
It was my job to make the call.
I was supposed to tell him that the blackmailer changed the meet.
I was supposed to tell him where to go.
Down by the underpass where no one would see.
He had it all arranged. Even that rug for his body.
All I had to do was make a call.
He said he would make everything like it was.
He said he would make it look like someone else did it.
He said no one would ever know.
Mrs. Horn. Laurie. I need to know who.
It's not supposed to be like this.
We were friends. And we were gonna change the world.
Frank Nesbit, you are under arrest for the murder of Jeff Horn.
What? That's ridiculous.
Mrs. Horn doesn't think so. Cuff him.
Mr. Nesbit, you have the right to remain silent. Any...
Hey! Hey! Hey!
Stop running, bro. Campaign's over.
Yes.
Wasn't quite finished back there, Mr. Nesbit.
You have the right to remain silent.
Anything you say, can and will be used against you in a court of law.
After we found the weapon in Nesbit's office, he made a full confession.
He got Horn to call her husband and get him down to the overpass,
and then he took care of the rest.
Politics was Nesbit's life.
He figured if the scandal broke, his career would be over
and he'd be damaged goods.
Sad thing is, he was probably right. So what happens to the girls?
Horn had a sister upstate.
She's coming down tomorrow to pick them up from Social Services.
- Good. And the rug? - A red herring.
Nesbit heard they were dumping a bunch of them,
and figured it would keep us off his trail.
Nice work. Very impressive.
Oh, and you, too, Beckett.
Sir?
Just yanking your chain, Detective. Just yanking your chain.
- Hello? - Hey, Dad, where are you?
Where am I supposed to be?
Fire ants? Eyeballs?
Right! Stall for me. I'm on my way.
Sorry, sorry.
"She stood there in stunned disbelief
"as the light in his eyes dimmed.
"He reached out for her, and she took his hand,
"squeezing it for the very last time.
"She felt her heart stop a beat, and in that moment,
"she knew he was gone.
"Darkness fell across the face of the city, and across her face, as well.
"'Good, she thought, as the wind gathered up her hair.
"'No one
"'will see my tears. "'
Thank you.
Thank you, thank you.
I don't know if I would say that that was the most...
Detective Beckett.
To what do I owe this very unexpected pleasure?
Excuse me. Thank you.
I just figured, if you're gonna bother me at my work,
I should bother you at yours.
That was quite a reading. Very moving.
Are you making fun of me?
"'Good, she thought, as the wind gathered up her hair.
"'No one will see my tears. "'
How does wind gather up hair? I'm just curious.
Oh, you're telling me how to do my job?
- Irritating, isn't it? - Oh, oh, oh, oh! Oh, look at you.
Denise from the Ledger says you're gonna be number one this week.
And look, everyone is buying your book.
Now, don't you feel silly for believing all those reviews?
Yes. Yes, I do.
Oh, let's just hope Nikki Heat does as well.
- "Nikki Heat"? - The character he's basing on you.
- "Nikki Heat"? - Uh-oh!
- Can I talk to you for a second? - Of course.
I wanna hear.
- What kind of a name is "Nikki Heat"? - A cop name.
- It's a stripper name. - Well, I told you she was kind of slutty.
- Change it, Castle. - Well, hang on a second.
Think of the titles. Summer Heat. Heat Wave. In Heat.
- Change the name. - No.
- Yes. - No.
- Change it. - No.
- Castle? - I'm sorry.
I have artistic integrity, Beckett.
"Artistic integrity?"
- Change the name, Castle. Today. - If I cave now, what next?
What next?