Castle continued his explanation, "You overplayed your hand. If you hadn't shared so many details about the old cases with the FBI this afternoon, I might not have suspected you so soon. But when I found out you mentioned key specifics that only the real 3XK would know, my doubts about you were confirmed."
He paused, watching Jerry Tyson, who was holding a gun aimed at him. "Think about it, Jerry. A serial killer who has eluded both the police and the FBI for so long—would he really casually reveal his crimes to others in prison? Wouldn't he fear that someone might use that information for a plea deal? Or do you really believe he could control everyone who knows his secrets?"
Castle shook his head. "Given Marcus Gates' past, it's clear that guy doesn't have the kind of meticulous mind to pull off these killings. You talked too much, and that's how you, the real killer, gave yourself away."
Tyson, still pointing the gun at Castle, was momentarily taken aback by the writer's insight. He realized Castle had been right all along. With a sigh, Tyson walked over to the still incapacitated Ryan, cuffing him with his own handcuffs, before returning to sit opposite Castle, gun in hand.
"I underestimated you, Mr. Writer," Tyson admitted, settling into the chair. "No wonder your books sell so well. Your analysis skills are quite impressive."
Tyson eyed Castle suspiciously. "Did you tell anyone else about your suspicions? Does your girlfriend, the precinct captain, know?"
Tyson was nervous, trying to gauge whether the motel was already surrounded by police. If it wasn't, he figured he still had a chance to escape. But if the cops were already in position, he might need to take hostages.
Castle shrugged. "No, I planned to tell her after tonight's operation. But now, here we are—stuck in this awkward situation where you've got the gun, and Ryan and I are at your mercy."
Tyson, highly intelligent, could tell Castle was being truthful. This meant the police didn't yet know his real identity, giving him time to flee. With this new information, Tyson relaxed a little, even expressing a desire to chat more with Castle, whom he found unexpectedly intriguing. He assured Castle that he had no intention of killing him or Ryan, knowing that killing a cop or the boyfriend of a police captain would escalate the manhunt against him exponentially.
Meanwhile, back at the precinct, Beckett and her team had just returned. She noticed the live feed from Castle and Ryan's body cameras showing the events unfolding at the motel. Although the audio was fragmented, Beckett quickly pieced together what was happening. Her mind raced—Marcus Gates wasn't the real 3XK; he was merely a puppet controlled by Jerry Tyson, the true killer.
Shock hit her hard. Could Castle have been right all along?
Worried for Castle and Ryan's safety, Beckett immediately called Esposito and two FBI agents into her office. The trio was confused at first but quickly understood the gravity of the situation after watching a few minutes of the live footage.
Esposito, seeing his partner cuffed on the floor, was eager to act. "We need to get to that motel, now! Castle and Ryan are in danger!"
But Beckett shook her head, immediately rejecting the idea. "Why do you think this feed is showing up on my computer? Castle set this up because he knew something was off. Right now, 3XK is confessing on camera. If we rush in and spook him, he could shoot Castle or Ryan."
Esposito protested, "So we just sit here and do nothing?"
Beckett shot him a stern look. "Did you forget how capable Castle is? He's not just some helpless writer. Look at him—his tone hasn't changed at all. He's provoking Tyson to confess. And knowing Castle, he's probably planned everything out. Why do you think he insisted on accompanying Ryan to babysit Tyson?"
By now, Beckett's frustration with Castle was palpable. She realized that during his afternoon outing, Castle must have uncovered solid evidence against Tyson but had only dropped vague hints to her, likely wanting to toy with the killer. She clenched her fists, already thinking of how she'd deal with Castle once this was over.
Esposito, recalling Castle's combat skills, began to calm down. Castle wasn't just a novelist—he had a history of deadly encounters. Esposito remembered the time Castle had turned a hitman into a rag doll in Central Park with a hundred-round automatic rifle. He now felt an odd sympathy for Tyson, who had no idea that he wasn't facing a defenseless sheep but a dangerous adversary.
The two FBI agents, Diana and Jones, were dumbfounded by the unorthodox tactics of the 12th precinct. They remained silent, watching the feed. Onscreen, Tyson was preparing to make his escape, no longer interested in talking.
In the motel room, Tyson stood up, clearly ready to flee. "Well, Mr. Writer, I admire your intuition, but now I have to go. I need to find Marcus. If that idiot hadn't changed the plan, I wouldn't have been discovered."
Castle remained seated, unfazed. He knew Tyson's game was up. Tyson had no idea that Castle had been waiting for the right moment.
Just as Tyson turned to leave, Castle spoke again, "You're planning to use Ryan's gun to kill someone and frame the NYPD, aren't you? That way, you'd shift some of the heat off yourself, right? And I bet you already have a new target. Let me guess—you're not planning to leave New York, are you?"
Tyson froze, unnerved that Castle had once again read his mind. How did this writer know so much about him?
But that brief hesitation was all Castle needed.
In that split second, while Tyson's focus wavered, Castle acted. From seemingly nowhere, Castle produced a gun, catching Tyson completely off guard. Three shots rang out in quick succession—two hitting Tyson square in the chest, and the third obliterating his head.
Tyson, the infamous 3XK, was dead before he hit the ground.
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