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… 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.
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.
Just like he knew Fink was working late.
Or made plans to meet him here. Check with the assistant.
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. - Mm-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 one, two, three, four, five, 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 'em. I did 'em 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 attaché 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 a hold 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?
Oh… 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.
Well…
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 attaché, 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 attaché, 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.
- 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.
Mm-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 a hold 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.
Uh… 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.
Um… 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.
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. - Mm-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.