Castle

The Fifth Bullet

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 would 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.

You drive, I'll ride. All right.

On one knee? Yes, 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.

Oh, the blood's bold, but it works.

Not sure he'd agree.

Mm.

Well, obviously, he was into art.

Victor Fink,

43, gallery owner.

There's no sign of forced entry.

Tenant upstairs call in gunshots to 911 at 10:14 pm.

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.

Right.

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?

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 shooting 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.

Fink'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 reswept 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'd you just call me?

Guys, what else?

We checked Fink's cell phone records.

He got a call at 9:19 pm, 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 I.D.

Okay, did you ask him his name?

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

You know, but... but here's the funny part...

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...

No, what am I supposed to do with these, huh?

I didn't want 'em.

I did it 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.

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 in the head and can't remember who he is.

Oh, missing bullets are cool. Amnesia is even cooler.

I'm sure you have better things to do.

I'm sure I do, too.

Huh.

You're inhaler. You're asthmatic.

Awesome.

Y-you should probably hang on to that.

Inhaler, grocery bag, keys...

Are you telling me you don't remember at all

- What any of that is for? - Yeah.

How ridiculous is that?

- Hey. - Hey.

so has he, uh, really got amnesia?

Yeah, but apparently, my hearing's fine.

Well, that's good. Richard Castle.

Hey. I... 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.