[his murder theory] You see him every day, only you never notice him. But he noticed Sara. She's young, beautiful, the kind of girl that a guy like him would never have a chance with. We all know girls like that don't we? Well, at first, it's just a game. Figure out her schedule. When does she do her laundry? When is she alone? Until it becomes something more, something that he can't control. Well, he uses the stairs, obviously, to avoid the elevator's cameras. And then he just waits, concealed in the shadows. When she comes into that laundry room, he pounces. When he looked into her vacant, lifeless eyes, he wanted to tell her he never meant to kill her. All he ever wanted was to be noticed. That's when he felt the heat of that dryer on his skin. So he picks up her limp body in his arms and gently places it inside. He almost smiled at his good fortune when he found the quarter in his pocket, slipping it into the slot. Buying him the time to do what he does best... disappear.
[pauses, then continues] Just saying, better story. Coffee?
Kate Beckett: Exactly how much longer do I have to expect you to be shadowing me on my cases like this?
Rick Castle: Hard to say. When I'm writing a new character, there's no telling when inspiration might strike.
Kate Beckett: I thought I was your inspiration.
Rick Castle: Oh, you are, Detective. And in so many ways.
Kate Beckett: Yeah, well your inspiration might strike you sooner than you think.
Rick Castle: Why only run the workers' names? Why not run all the neighbors names?
Kate Beckett: What are you basing that on?
Rick Castle: I'm basing that on the neighbor would make a better story. No, come on. What do any of us know about our neighbors in this city? You think the guy living next door to the Son of Sam knew he was living next door to the Son of Sam?
Roy Montgomery: He's right. Neighbors in Berkowitz's building had no idea was the Son of Sam killer.
Rick Castle: Thank you. What about the guy in 8B?
Kate Beckett: Who?
Rick Castle: 8B. Quiet guy. You see him every day, only you never notice him. But he noticed Sara. She's young, beautiful, the kind of girl that a guy like him would never have a chance with. We all know girls like that don't we? Well, at first, it's just a game. Figure out her schedule. When does she do her laundry? When is she alone? Until it becomes something more, something that he can't control. Well, he uses the stairs, obviously, to avoid the elevator's cameras. And then he just waits, concealed in the shadows. When she comes into that laundry room, he pounces. When he looked into her vacant, lifeless eyes, he wanted to tell her he never meant to kill her. All he ever wanted was to be noticed. That's when he felt the heat of that dryer on his skin. So he picks up her limp body in his arms and gently places it inside. He almost smiled at his good fortune when he found the quarter in his pocket, slipping it into the slot. Buying him the time to do what he does best ... Disappear. [pauses, then continues] Just saying, better story. Coffee?
Roy Montgomery: Let see what we can find out about those neighbors. [starts to walk away but turns back briefly] And someone better tell me who the hell lives in 8B!
[In order to get Brandon to admit to his crime] If only Max had been strong enough just to man up... If only Donny realized he didn't belong with you guys anymore, he and Amanda were through, well, then none of this would have been necessary. (Lowered voice) Weak people just don't get it, do they, Brandon? Sometimes they just have to be led to the truth.
BBrandon
(Whispers) Exactly. [Unknowingly admitting to his crime]
[Smiling at Beckett] Did he just say "exactly"?
CCastle
Are you sure? 'Cause you can tell me.
Dad, am I lethargic and uncharacteristically irritable?
Are my eyes bloodshot for no apparent reason?
CCastle
No, except when you're sick.
Well, that's an apparent reason.
[interrogating a suspect] Witnesses don't place you in the club until one in the morning, and Horn was murdered between eleven and twelve.
[watching Beckett from behind one-way glass] Here it comes, and...
So, where were you between eleven and twelve, Mr. Creason?
Asleep!? You are lame! [heard from other side of glass] You are so lame! You're a lamey, McLamester! You're so l-l-l- [back in room] LAME!
You're telling me you've lived in New York your whole life, and you've never scored a piece of roadkill?
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?
That's gross. Gross. We are never playing Madden at your place again.
