Bending spoons with my mind
Manifesting men of all kinds
In my spare time
But, oh, how I struggled in vain
To solve this riddle with my brain
When the answer's in my hands
So I wanna move you around
Got to turn you inside out
Yeah, I wanna move you
Move you around
I wanna move you
I wanna move you around
All right, everybody, last hand for the night.
Oh, phooey! It's only...
It's not even midnight.
Some people have jobs to go to in the morning.
Oh, my son, the working stiff. All right.
Phooey. I fold.
If you don't mind me saying, Mrs. R., you fold a lot.
I just don't believe in stringing along a bad hand. Why waste time?
Actually, Mother's game isn't really Texas Hold 'Em.
It's strip poker. Keeps things humming along, if you know what I mean.
Well, frankly, I prefer strip because even when you lose, you win.
- Raise 20. - Call.
- Make it 100. - Whoa!
- A hundred bucks? - Man up, bro.
- Really? I'm out. - This slop.
What about you, Castle? You're already in for the blind.
Not scared of a little action, are you?
"Action" is my middle name.
Don't worry, sweetheart, he's bluffing.
Whenever he blinks too much, it means he's got a lousy hand.
- Mother. - Well...
All right, here we go.
There it is.
Uh-oh.
- What? - He's not blinking,
but now he's tapping, which means he might have the nuts.
What's the matter? You're not afraid of a little action, are you?
- All in. - Whoa!
Ooh! Take him down, Beckett.
Yeah, make him pay.
Can't write your way out of this one, huh, Castle?
- Way to go, Beckett! - Maybe someone should change
their middle name to "Loser."
- Loser. - What can I say?
This just wasn't my night.
See? I told you he was bluffing. It's the...
It's that blinking thing. Yeah, you're right.
Beckett.
Yeah, we'll be there in 20. Homicide on Henry Street.
- I'll take care of this for you. - Thank you.
Well, at least you guys are already downtown.
But it's after midnight!
Murder never sleeps, Mrs. R.
Yeah, and neither do we.
Whoa, whoa. Someone say "murder"? Hold on! I'll get my coat.
Look at him, all excited.
Yeah, like a kid at Christmas.
With a dead body under the tree.
Is that motor oil?
Looks like it. But I'll have to pump out the tub and run some tests to be sure.
It's motor oil, all right. 10W-40. Empties in the closet.
What kind of freak drowns a woman in motor oil?
Someone's trying to send a message.
I already told the uniforms. Once the people check in,
I don't want to know what they do up there.
Her purse was missing, and she didn't have an ID on her.
Any chance she paid for the room with a credit card?
All I can tell you is, whoever rented the room
on Friday paid cash for a five-day stay.
They were supposed to be out tonight,
so at midnight, I went up to check
if the place was empty, and found her in the tub.
Gonna be a bitch to clean it.
So, if anybody was meeting her here...
It's not like the guests arrive and I ring them up. This ain't the Ritz.
- Clearly. - What about tonight?
Anyone strange coming in or going out?
- Hey, Bill. - Jasmine. How's it hanging?
I think you just described half their clientele.
Unidentified woman, early 40s. Good health.
She's wearing a wedding ring, but there's no inscription.
- Cause of death? - Drowning.
And there's a nasty contusion on the back of her head.
So somebody hit her hard enough to knock her out,
and then gave her a motor-oil bath.
And I found this in one of her pockets.
Ticket stub for the Metro-North.
Our victim took the train in from Westchester yesterday morning.
Westchester to lower Manhattan? That's a long way to go for a lube job.
See, when married ladies go to cheap hotels, it's always about sex.
- Or drugs. - The sample in one of the wine glasses
- tested positive for Remian. - The sleeping pill.
Mmm-hmm.
This was not a crime of passion. That room was rented for five days,
and someone stocked the place up with motor oil. That takes planning.
And nice suburban ladies don't just take the train into the city
and not return without somebody noticing.
Irvington PD logged a call last night from a Michael Goldman,
wanting to report his wife, Allison, missing.
Clothing and description match.
Said she went into the city for work and never came back.
Said he knew something was wrong.
Poor guy. Unless he's the killer,
and he's covering his tracks by calling the police
before the body is discovered.
How about we question him before we convict him?
- You got an address? Thanks. - Okay.
I don't understand. Where did you say that she was found?
At an SRO in the city.
It's a single-room occupancy. It's like a transient hotel.
Why would she be in a place like that?
Can you think of anyone she might have been meeting?
No. My wife and I were happily married, Detective. We had no secrets.
You told police last night that your wife went into the city for her job?
She was working part-time.
We'd had some financial setbacks the last few years. I'd been laid off.
Then we had to give up the apartment.
How did your wife handle the move to the suburbs?
Not... Not too well. Allison missed the city.
So, a couple of months ago, she got a job,
working three days a week at a clothing boutique in Manhattan.
This little place on 72nd called Lehane's.
She said that being there...
I'm sorry. She said that being there reminded her of the good old days.
So! I'm trying to put together a timeline of Allison Goldman's last hours.
First call I make is to Lehane's, the store where she worked.
I say to the owner, "Good morning, sir.
"I'd like to talk to you about your employee, Allison Goldman."
- And? - And he says, "Who?"
- Allison didn't work there. - Not yesterday, not ever.
Well, if she wasn't going into the city three times a week for a job,
then what was she doing there?
And how did she come home Friday night
with four hundred bucks in cash for the family kitty?
Maybe Castle was right. Maybe this is about sex.
The lady was a soccer mom.
Come by my daughter's school at about 3:30.
The place is like happy hour.
Maybe she had a boyfriend.
Yes, a boyfriend. Someone she met in line at Zabar's,
or one afternoon at the museum when she ducked in to escape a rainstorm.
Maybe it was someone she already knew from the city.
Someone who reminded her of when times were good,
before she had to give up that cute apartment with the partial river view.
Someone who was slipping her a little cash
while he was slipping her something else.
Yeah. Allison Goldman wouldn't have some cheap affair.
This person would have had to have meant something to her.
Someone who cared for her. Someone who listened to her.
Only now, he wanted a little more in return for his investment,
- something she wasn't willing to do. - Like leave her husband.
And when she wouldn't, then he got violent.
- Yep. - You know, I feel so stupid.
Here I am, looking for evidence,
and all I had to do was just make something up.
So, this imaginary boyfriend-killer,
do you think that he has an imaginary address?
Detective Beckett?
Mr. Goldman. What is it?
My lawyer called the Social Security office this morning
to let them know that Allison had passed away.
He faxed this to me two hours ago.
A death certificate?
Yeah, for Allison Porter. Now, "Porter" was my wife's maiden name.
But it says here that Allison Porter died in 1963.
When she was three months old.
But this child's Social Security Number is the same as my wife's.
My wife wasn't the woman she said she was.
Our whole life together was a lie.
So, for 20 years,
this woman was living under a false name? That's crazy.
Yeah. Her husband was pretty shaken up.
Trust me on this one, kiddo.
When a woman marries a man and doesn't bother to tell him
who she is for 20 years, she's a criminal.
Mata Hari. A shady lady.
In other words, a very good actress.
Speaking of which, you seem to have inherited a bit of my talent.
- Oh? How so? - The poker game. You let Beckett win.
- I don't know what you're talking about. - Oh, come on. I checked your cards.
I didn't want to take her money in front of all her friends.
Kate Beckett is not some bimbo
who needs big, strong you to look out for her.
She's a real woman, and a real woman does not want to be patronized.
- She's right, Dad. - Yeah.
I was being nice!
Castle. Yeah, I'm on my way.
All right, I'm on my way to the precinct
to find out who this Mata Hari really was.
Allison Goldman's e-mail account.
Allison writes, "Lee, can we meet on Tuesday instead this week?"
Lee writes back, "Sounds good. The usual place."
Tuesday, the day that she was murdered.
So, Allison's imaginary boyfriend has a very real e-mail account.
He goes by the screen name "LWax220."
The husband said it didn't sound familiar to him.
Cyber tracked it down. Check this, Castle. The guy's a writer.
A real writer? Or a "I took a course at the Learning Annex" writer?
Well, his name is Lee Wax.
He writes true crime.
"Bobby Socks And Blood. The true story of a cheerleader,
"an Eagle Scout, and the murder that shocked America. " Give me a break.
Well, maybe he got tired of writing about other people's murders
and decided to commit one on his own.
What's this?
Your winnings from the other night.
I'm not an idiot. I know you threw the last hand.
- How did you figure it out? - That's not the point.
- Oh, my mother called you, didn't she? - You owe me a rematch.
Fine. You want to play? Let's play. How about tomorrow night?
With your mystery buddies?
What, are you kidding? No, no, no. Those guys would eat you alive.
No. I was thinking something a little more local.
My Gotham City crew. Guys I beat on a regular basis.
Your "Gotham City crew"?
Yeah. Captain, the mayor, and Judge Markway.
You know, your boss, your boss' boss, and the guy that signs your warrants.
Or would that make you nervous?
I mean, I wouldn't want to throw your game,
but I also don't want you to feel patronized.
Just set it up. And prepare to get your ass kicked.
Hello?
Look who's stalking.
Stay here.
- Hey, who the hell are you? - Who the hell are you?
Lee Wax! What are you doing in my apartment?
You're a woman.
You... Either you tell me who you are right now, or I am calling the cops.
I am the cops. My name is Detective Kate Beckett.
We would like to ask you some questions about Allison Goldman.
Allison?
Oh.
Just... Just let me get my lawyer.
- Why do you need a lawyer? - Why do you think?
So, you're confessing.
No, I'm not confessing to anything. It's just,
my publisher instructed me not to talk
to law enforcement until I had a lawyer present.
Your publisher?
You know, I would like to state for the record
that I never harbored, nor did I conceal, a fugitive.
What are you talking about?
Allison Goldman. If that's why you're here, then obviously you found her.
Yes. Murdered.
Murdered? Murdered by who?
Well, given your unhealthy obsession for her,
I'm going to take a wild stab at you.
Me? No, I am a ghostwriter.
We were working on her memoir.
Memoir? Why would Allison Goldman need a memoir?
Wait, so you don't know who she really is?
We do now.
Apparently, our Westchester housewife was also a fugitive.
That's Allison Goldman?
A.K.A. Cynthia Dern.
In 1989, she and two friends set off a bomb
on a tanker owned by a big oil company.
I remember this.
Some radical environmentalists protesting the Exxon Valdez spill.
Yes. One was killed, one was caught, but Cynthia Dern was never found.
It looks like her past finally caught up with her.
Jared Swanstrom built the bomb.
Susan Mailer and Cynthia snuck on board to set it,
only something went wrong.
You see, the ship was supposed to be empty of oil and people,
but the captain, Sam Pike, had come back.
He was paralyzed in the explosion.
How did you track down Cynthia?
I didn't. She contacted me.
Cynthia had decided to turn herself in, but before she surrendered,
she wanted to get her story out to the public and express her remorse.
And get public opinion on her side.
It's a great way to influence a potential jury pool.
But she did it, right? So, how was she planning on influencing them?
Cynthia told me that on the night of the bombing, she tried to back out.
When she realized that the captain was aboard,
she argued with Susan Mailer to call it off. But Susan refused.
Susan went to set the bomb herself and, ironically, died in the explosion.
She was vaporized.
So, why would she come out of hiding now?
- Money. She needed the cash. - You were paying her?
Couple hundred a week. If the book had sold well...
I don't have to tell you how much money was at stake.
When was the last time you saw Cynthia?
Tuesday afternoon.
Did she mention that she was going to see anyone else?
Maybe someone from her past?
No, no. Cynthia was really paranoid
about being discovered before the book came out.
She didn't want me to get in touch with anyone from her old life.
But you did anyway.
Any true crime writer worth their salt
is gonna check her story with other sources.
Okay, so I made a few calls.
These sources that you were talking to, did any of them want her dead?
Maybe. But remember, nobody knew how to find her.
I mean, I didn't even know where she lived.
I'm gonna need to see your interview notes and your manuscript.
You can have whatever you want, but in return,
I'd like to be kept in the loop as the investigation proceeds.
- What for? - My book.
Whoa. You're gonna go through with it? But Cynthia's dead.
Correction. Cynthia was murdered, which means her memoir
just became a true crime story, which is kind of my forte.
You'd be doing me a huge favor.
You know, I would love to,
but I have a whole list of writers who are hanging around, looking for favors.
So, thank you very much, though, for cooperating.
And catch you on the dark side.
It's a pretty sweet gig you've scored for yourself, Mr. Castle.
Is this your secret to writing bestsellers?
Follow the pretty cop-lady around and take copious notes?
I like to think talent played a small part.
Still, this is the kind of all-access pass most writers would kill for.
Let's get to the part where you tell me what you want.
Well, maybe you can give me a call sometime, one professional to another.
Or do you need to check with your boss-lady?
Why don't you give me your number, and I'll see what I can do.
A domestic terrorist who clips coupons.
I just might buy the movie rights myself.
Well, the bombing obviously wasn't a very sophisticated operation.
Susan Mailer was killed in the blast, and Jared Swanstrom was
caught by the FBI and served 15 years.
Allison Goldman, A.K.A. Cynthia Dern,
managed to stay a fugitive for nearly two decades.
And then she poked her head out of hiding,
and a couple of months later, she's dead.
Now, who would hold a grudge for 20 years?
How about the people whose lives she's ruined?
You say she was living in Irvington?
Mmm-hmm.
That's just a couple of miles away from here.
In the months leading up to her death, Cynthia was working with a journalist.
We spoke with Lee Wax several times.
She never told us Cynthia was involved.
She should have. Excuse me. Will you excuse me, please?
This is hard for him. He's still angry about what happened. We all are.
- This is your son? - Adam.
He's a sailor, just like his dad.
The settlement wasn't enough to cover all of Sam's medical costs.
Adam's been working and helping out since he was a teenager.
Adam? I'm Detective Kate Beckett.
Is this about her? Cynthia, or Allison, or whatever she called herself?
Did you have any idea that she lived so close?
Didn't know, didn't care.
You didn't care about the woman who almost killed your father?
I find that hard to believe.
You know, my family waited 20 years for the cops to find Cynthia Dern,
so my dad could get just a little bit of justice.
Well, it's too late for that now. So, what do you want from us?
Well, I thought you might want to know how Cynthia died.
- She was drowned, in motor oil. - Motor oil?
It's almost as if whoever did it had a personal connection to the bombing.
Adam, if I looked in your garage right now, would I find motor oil?
I own a boat and a car, Detective.
And where were you last Tuesday?
I bartend at the Foxtail Grill on Manchester every Tuesday.
Are we done?
Yes, for now. Thank you.
You know what? I hope his alibi checks out. I hope he didn't do it.
And here, I thought you would be saying,
"What a great story it would make if Adam Pike did it.
"A son taking revenge for his father."
It is a good story. It's a great story.
Personally, I would just write a happier ending for that family.
Beckett. FBI files on the tanker bombing in '89.
- I've been going through them. - And?
Three days after the bombing,
they captured Jared Swanstrom at a motel where he'd been hiding out.
Feds had a tip line. Some helpful citizen calls,
and said they'd seen Swanstrom at the motel.
Feds go in, grab him up. Easy-peasy.
It's pretty standard stuff.
Yeah, until you get to the part where the tipster never collects on the reward.
And who was the tipster?
That's just it. The FBI never knew, because she didn't leave a name.
- "She"? - Mmm-hmm.
Records describe the voice as "young and female."
It could be Cynthia Dern.
Do you think she would give up her friends to the cops?
Doesn't matter what I think. Only matters what Swanstrom thought.
The guy did 15 years in prison.
That's a long time to think about who put you there.
- Jared Swanstrom? - Yeah.
NYPD. We'd like to ask you some questions about Cynthia Dern.
I'm not sure what I can tell you. I hadn't seen her in 20 years.
But you knew she was writing a book, right? You spoke to Lee Wax?
I spoke with her. I told her to give Cynthia my regards.
So, you weren't bearing any old grudges?
Against Cynthia? What for?
For turning you in.
It was Cynthia who called the cops the night you were arrested.
Well, if that's true, she was just trying to save herself.
Right after the bombing, Cynthia wanted to run.
You know, try to make it to Canada. But I fell apart.
- Why? - Guilt.
I'm the one who built the bomb. I'm the one who messed it up.
Messed it up, how?
The girls were supposed to have three minutes
to get off that ship before it went off. Three minutes.
But when Cynthia got back in the car that night,
she said that something had gone wrong,
that the bomb had... Had blown early.
I'm the reason that Susan Mailer is dead.
At least one of them took responsibility for what happened that night.
Yeah. Maybe even a little too much responsibility.
You don't believe Jared Swanstrom's story?
That's the thing. It's not his story, it's Cynthia's.
You want to break it down for those of us who've already had a glass of wine?
Cynthia told Lee Wax that she and Susan Mailer had an argument
as to whether or not to set off the bomb,
once they knew the captain was on board.
Cynthia backed out. Susan went on to set off the bomb by herself.
- And, "Boom." - Huh.
But today, Jared Swanstrom said that Cynthia told him
there was something wrong with the timer.
She never said anything about an argument.
Oh. Well, that is a rather glaring omission.
You know, when I'm writing, I find it's all about choices.
What to put in, what to leave out.
When to reveal some information, when to hold something back.
But, as someone else's ghostwriter,
you only know what they want you to know.
But Lee Wax isn't Cynthia's ghostwriter anymore, right?
Now that she's dead, it's no longer a memoir.
It's a true crime story. And it sounds like the true story
is a whole lot juicier than Cynthia's lies.
Good morning.
Oh! Hey. Sorry. I've just been going over Lee Wax's interview notes.
When she spoke to Jared Swanstrom, he told her the same thing he told us.
Cynthia said the bomb blew early. But she left that version out of her book.
That's because it contradicted Cynthia's latest story,
that the girls argued when they discovered
that Captain Pike was still on board, and that Susan set the bomb alone.
According to the publisher, Cynthia has full approval over everything
Lee Wax wrote. It was her way or the highway.
You talked to the publisher?
I am somewhat known in those circles. Anyway, they didn't like it.
They were looking for a true crime tell-all, and what they were getting was
some sanitized bunch of remorseful boo-hooing.
They were getting ready to pull the plug.
- And now? - Well, now that
Cynthia's murder's all over the media, they're back on board,
so long as the book takes a more sensationalized angle.
"Kaboom! The True Story of a Domestic Terrorist Turned Suburban Housewife,
- "and the Crime that Shocked America." - Catchy.
Thanks.
So, with Cynthia out of the way,
Lee Wax is sitting on a potential bestseller.
People have killed for a lot less.
Beckett.
All right, bring him in.
- What? - Adam Pike's alibi fell apart.
He was lying about being at work on Tuesday night.
I didn't kill her. I didn't even know where she was.
We're not gonna get anywhere
if you keep lying to me.
I know you went to Westchester. I spoke to Cynthia's husband.
He remembers seeing a guy just like you outside their house
a couple of weeks before she was murdered.
Don't make me put you in a lineup.
I just wanted to talk to her.
- How'd you find her? - That writer.
The way she kept talking about what happened to my dad,
she knew things that only someone on that ship could know.
So, I started following her around. Eventually, she led me to Cynthia Dern.
And why didn't you call the police?
Because I wanted to look her in the eye.
I wanted to tell her none of it mattered.
Her blood money wouldn't buy our forgiveness.
- What money? - What do you mean by "blood money"?
After I found out where Cynthia lived, I went and told my mom.
I didn't know if we should call the Feds or what.
She started crying. She told me we'd been
getting money every month since the bombing.
Different amounts. Sometimes more, sometimes less. But every month.
And she thought that the money was coming from Cynthia Dern?
The first envelope, there was a note. "Please forgive me."
Susan Mailer was dead. Swanstrom was in prison.
There wasn't anybody else.
You know, with this kind of evidence,
Cynthia could have been caught years ago.
Mom said without that money, we wouldn't have made it.
She figured as long as Cynthia was free, the money would keep coming.
So, why did you lie to me about where you were last Tuesday?
Because I was there, at the hotel. I followed her.
I was just gonna talk to her.
I spent an hour walking up and down that hallway,
trying to get up the courage to go and knock on that door,
you know? I was gonna do it.
But then someone got off the elevator and knocked on her door instead.
- You saw her killer? - I didn't get a good look.
But I did hear them talking, and I can tell you one thing.
What?
It was a woman.
Lee Wax. Beckett!
It was Lee Wax! Beckett!
Lee Wax.
Lee...
Murder? Are you people crazy?
I have an eyewitness who can place you
at the SRO where Cynthia's body was found.
You had motive, means, and opportunity.
Please. Only a novelist could come up with a twist this absurd.
Not as absurd as killing a woman to salvage your story.
Drowning her in motor oil gave you just the ending you needed.
I'm a true crime writer, so I don't have your talent for fiction.
We know your publisher wanted to dump your contract.
Because I told them that I thought Cynthia was lying.
So, you didn't believe her remorse was genuine?
When Cynthia cried, it was for herself.
She wanted to cash in and keep herself out of jail. That's it.
Well, she must have felt some responsibility for what happened.
After all, she sent the Pikes money year after year.
What money?
Every month since the bombing, the Pikes have been receiving money,
courtesy of Cynthia Dern. Only, there's nothing about that in your notes.
Because she never told me. Are you sure?
We're sure.
Look, the Tuesday that Cynthia was killed,
I was out to dinner with my publisher until after midnight.
So, I couldn't have killed her.
Remind me if I ever decide to write a memoir, to never write a memoir.
Okay.
- Why not? - Because memoirs are about truth,
and I'm not a very truthful person. It'd be too easy to make myself look good.
Might be harder than you think.
Maybe. But I would sure start with the most generous thing I ever did.
You mean, like how you anonymously sent money to your victims
because you felt so guilty about what you'd done?
The object of Cynthia's memoir was to gain sympathy.
What could be more sympathetic than
sending the Pikes guilt money for 20 years?
It doesn't make sense that Cynthia didn't tell Lee Wax.
Unless the money didn't come from Cynthia.
It had to be from Cynthia.
Swanstrom was in prison, and Susan Mailer was dead.
Call. And you're sure no one else was involved?
No, just the three of them, assuming you believe the FBI. Call.
You know, we don't really have to talk about this.
Anything to stop His Honor here from talking about budget initiatives.
Oh, okay, Judge. Who was it that appointed you again?
Now, the FBI, I believe.
But why take Cynthia Dern's word for anything
that happened the night of the bombing,
when her own ghostwriter didn't even trust her?
You know, the judge is right.
What do we actually know about what happened?
Not much.
According to Lee Wax's notes, Captain Pike heard two women arguing
just before the explosion.
Cynthia claims that she was trying to change Susan's mind.
Fold. But, if we assume Cynthia was lying...
Then maybe it was Susan that wanted to save Pike,
and Cynthia that wanted to run. Raise 20.
Right. But the bomb was already set,
so the three-minute timer is already ticking.
The girls argue, wasting precious seconds.
Susan runs towards the ticking bomb to try to shut it down...
While Cynthia runs for cover.
Right. Susan gets to the bomb, but too late.
Boom.
Which means Susan Mailer didn't die trying to set the bomb.
She died trying to save an innocent man's life. Fold.
It still doesn't explain where the money came from.
Fold. Well, what about it, Castle? You're good with twists.
- Where'd the money come from? - I'm thinking.
Yeah, well, you might want to think up some chips for the pot,
'cause it looks like it's just you and me.
All right, Detective Beckett. I'm all in.
Oh, what's the matter? You afraid of a little action?
Oh, do us a favor, Detective. Beat his pants off.
Yes, please. Beat my pants off, if you dare.
Beckett, do me proud.
To hell with "proud." Make him cry like a little girl.
All right.
Sorry, fellas. It's just not my night.
Who's a good little boy? Who's a good little boy?
You are, and you are, and you are!
Don't you ever get tired of winning, Castle?
Yeah, you'd think so, right? But, no.
Well, I think that's it for me. Detective, it was a pleasure.
- Mr. Mayor. - Sorry we couldn't solve your case.
And I'm sorry I couldn't make him cry like a little girl.
Well, it's not your fault, Detective.
No matter how down he gets, he always manages to rise from the dead.
- Oh, now, that'd be a twist. - What?
The money had to come from Cynthia,
because Swanstrom was in jail and Susan Mailer was dead, right?
Right.
But what if Susan Mailer didn't die in that explosion? What if she's still alive?
- Susan Mailer, alive? - Her body was never found.
Yeah, because she was vaporized in the explosion.
Well, maybe she was thrown clear.
Well, then, she would've been badly burned and would've needed care.
And no one matching her description ever checked into area hospitals.
Mere details, my good man.
Um, around here, we call them "facts."
Well, then, let's go get us some facts.
Please don't think less of me. I did what I had to do to survive.
These are from all over the place.
Not the recent ones. The recent ones are all the same.
Lititz, Pennsylvania.
If we're gonna road-trip, I'm gonna have to pee first.
- I've never seen her before. - Are you positive?
- Didn't he sound positive? - Castle.
Okay, how about her?
She'd be older now.
- How much older? - Twenty years.
I don't think so.
That's what I get for listening to a mystery writer.
She might have scars, or walk with a limp.
Like she's been in an accident? It could be Mary Wright.
Mary Wright?
She comes in once a month or so,
buys a money order to send to her relatives in New York.
Do you have her address?
It sounds naive now,
but everything I did back then, I did because I thought it would help.
We're not here because of the bombing, Susan.
We're here because of what you did to Cynthia Dern.
Her body was found in a tub of motor oil. But you already know that.
Forensics is going through that room as we speak.
And believe me, they will find something,
something that connects you to Cynthia's death.
She should have just left it all alone.
She had a husband, a good life. Well, that wasn't Cynthia.
Once she decided on something, well, you just better not be in her way.
Like that night on the tanker.
I saw the captain go below.
I don't know how he got back on board without us seeing. I tried...
I was, I was too late. When the bomb exploded, I was thrown overboard.
I can still feel the heat on my skin, even today.
How did you survive without medical attention?
Um, a friend took me in, a med student. Nursed me back to health.
- I got a new identity. - And Mary Wright was born.
It's not hard to live like a ghost when everyone you love thinks you're dead.
I never contacted anyone from my former life, not even my parents.
But you still sent money to the Pikes.
They had a son, medical bills. I was responsible.
Everything could have stayed just the way it was, except...
Except Cynthia decided to write a book.
That reporter put a post on an environmental board,
asking for info on Cynthia.
I e-mailed, pretending to be an old friend of the group.
It didn't take long for me to figure out that she had found Cynthia,
and Cynthia was lying about what happened on the ship.
You tracked her down. You confronted her.
I threatened to turn myself in if she went through with the book.
Give myself up, tell the authorities everything.
She begged to meet with me first, somewhere we could talk.
That's when you rented the room?
Oh, no. Cynthia rented the room, not me. It was all part of her plan.
- Her plan? - Her plan to murder me.
When I got there, she poured me a drink.
"Let's toast to old friends," she said.
Only, you see, I don't drink.
I tried to leave. She wouldn't let me.
I hid in the bathroom. That's when I saw it.
A tub full of oil. Then, I understood.
She didn't plan to talk to you.
She planned to kill you and make it look like suicide.
That wine was laced with a sleeping pill.
You were supposed to drink it, and then drown in the oil.
And then the world would think that you were wracked with guilt
over the Pikes all these years,
and that you finally decided to commit suicide.
Once your body was discovered, the public would clamor for the true story.
Cynthia's true story, with you, now cast as the villain.
We struggled. She lost her balance
and fell against the sink, and hit her head.
I should've called for help, but I just wanted it to be over.
So, I dragged her to the tub,
and I pushed her in.
You see, I was already dead. I just wanted to keep it that way.
I heard you made an arrest.
You can hear all about it in the morning news.
Oh, come on. After all the help I gave you on this case,
you can't give me any more information than that?
Well, I could.
But I just keep thinking that, if it wasn't for you,
there wouldn't be a case in the first place.
What does that mean?
All the people from Cynthia's past that you interviewed,
how did you manage to let every one of them know
that you were in contact with her?
What are you implying?
You wanted someone to put two and two together and call the cops.
You wanted Cynthia in prison.
That way, you could tear up the contract you had with her
and write the story you wanted to write.
With an ending that would sell more books.
I mean, you couldn't call the authorities yourself.
What kind of story would that be?
That's a lovely theory. But, even if it's true,
I didn't kill Cynthia Dern. I didn't even do anything illegal.
Oh, no, no, no. It's not illegal, it's just slimy.
So your all-access pass has been revoked.
Oh, and one more thing.
One day, and one day not far from now, I'm gonna use this in a book.
- Susan Mailer's in booking. - Hmm.
All these years, trying to do the right thing, trying to make amends.
Because of Cynthia's greed, she's gonna end up in jail.
If you're looking for a happy ending, you've come to the wrong place.
Next time, I guess I'll just try that massage parlor on 2nd Avenue.
Just kidding. Actually, who needs a happy ending,
when you have a story with people pretending to be dead,
living under assumed names, plotting fake suicides, and murder for revenge?
You know, I'm glad to see that you're entertained.
I, however, have to call Michael Goldman
and let him know that his wife was a sociopath.
But, you also get to call Jared Swanstrom
and tell him that he's no longer responsible for Susan Mailer's death.
Matter of fact, Susan Mailer's still alive.
Which is why Cynthia's now dead.
Wow. You are all about the cloud, aren't you? Never the silver lining.
Okay, maybe this might cheer you up a little bit.
- Your winnings. - My winnings?
Oh, don't play coy with me. You threw your hand.
All right, I was trying to be nice.
I didn't want to embarrass you in front of your friends.
Now we're even.
So what do you say to a little showdown?
Head-to-head. Toe-to-toe. Winner take all, mano a mujer.
- "Hand to woman"? - Whatever it takes.
- You're on. - No mercy.
- I'm gonna make you hurt. - Oh, you're gonna get hurt.
- What are we playing for? - Pride. Or clothing.
I think I got a bag of gummi bears.
Shuffle.
Deal.
We'll walk around pretending
Comfy with Texas Hold 'Em?
I'm comfy, so long as my cards come from the top of the deck.
Huh. What you got up your sleeves?
Aside from my muscular arms?
You're so stuck up