Rating: PG-13

Series: This is the 18th in the Fearful Symmetry Series. Fearful Symmetry, Can't Fight This Feeling, Gold Medals, Surprises, Honeymoon, Blackout, the Hopes and Fears, Anniversary, Framed, Sight for Sore Eyes, Trials and Tribbulations, Premonition, Do No Harm, the CSI Who Loved Me, Complications, Yet to Be, More Deadly, and Photo Finish. All are archived on Lonely Road and on under Deb3.

Disclaimer: Any character you see on CSIM on TV does not belong to me. I am only borrowing those and am making no money from it. All other supporting human characters here, including Rosalind and Breeze, do belong to me. Silver Lining and Valentine are my own creations. Any other horse mentioned by name is real, and of those, only Chrissy belongs to me. All financial details mentioned anywhere are absolutely accurate, although I find some of them as unbelievable as you will. Gulfstream Park is real, but the crime is entirely fictitious and not based in any way on anything that has ever happened there. I appreciate their cooperation with this story and apologize for planting a crime on their turf. The Breeders' Cup World Thoroughbred Championships is an actual event. In 2004, it will be held October 30th at Lone Star Park in Texas. It is a true world championship and is televised in dozens of countries, so you have a pretty good chance of finding it, if you feel so inclined.

Speed Disclaimer: The subplot of this story concerning Speed and Breeze was created well before Lost Son aired or before any of the rumors began to fly this summer. I even have witnesses to that fact. The week of the first death rumors, I bounced the subplot summary off a few people because I already was pretty sure how Speed would die, and I was afraid this subplot would hit too close to home for the mourning Speedsters. The vote was unanimous to keep it in, perhaps with an advance disclaimer. Therefore, I promise Speed fans that he is not harmed in any way during this story. I maintain that the subplot is in character for him. Also, I have no plans to kill Speed in the Fearful Symmetry series. My muse does have a mind of her own, but Speed is safe for four more stories, at least, and I really am not planning to cut him out in the future. I do absolutely promise to never kill Horatio, Calleigh, or Rosalind. My muse isn't capable of it. File that one along with the unconditional happy ending guarantee.

Thanks: To Mike Tanner from Gulfstream Park for answering my questions about the areas behind the scenes and giving me a working picture of Gulfstream during Breeders' Cup week. Note that Gulfstream is currently undergoing a massive renovation, to be completed in 2006. This story is based on the old Gulfstream facility. Also, thanks to Wendy, professional equine photographer and friend, for the opportunity to watch her work officially and unofficially on many occasions over the years, as well as for the gifts of her magnificent photos of Ebony and Fortitude.

Dedication: To the many people who encouraged me to write another horse case after the Hopes and Fears. This one is totally different, but it had to be. For me, none of my CSIM stories will ever match the Hopes and Fears, not even Complications. I had a lot of fun with this story, though. Hope you all enjoy galloping through Photo Finish.

(H/C)

"Whereas, up to the present, there is only one known way of getting born, there are endless ways of getting killed."

Dorothy Sayers

(H/C)

The backstretch was never totally silent, but at this hour, when the morning was still a shadowed promise in the east, it came close. What few sounds came were hushed, as if fearing to wake the world. The patient, steady tread of the night watchmen throughout the barns. The soft shuffling of hooves in the straw. A muffled nicker here and there. The feeble squeak of a mouse as a silent cat pounced. The horses had been fed breakfast by the night men at 3:30, allowing several hours before their early morning workouts. Now, 45 minutes later, the soothing, grinding munch had stilled. Here and there, a feed tub rattled hopefully as a horse investigated it for one last missed oat. Some of the horses had dozed back off, but others were starting to look over the webbing that blocked the stall doors. Soon, the people would start to arrive.

Partway down one barn row, a dapple gray head emerged. The aisles were always lit, even at night, and the bulbs struck an answering gleam from the brass nameplate on the leather halter. Silver Lining. The horse snaked his neck toward the open door at the end of the barn, and his nostrils flared, sampling the day's potential. Even though the other end of the aisle was closer, he looked the long way. Out there in the darkness, the track awaited. His hooves rustled softly in anticipation, and a quiver of eagerness swept over him. Like any athlete carefully honed to a peak, he knew the battle would be soon. His ears pointed toward the distant oval where a mile of dirt swept to smooth perfection waited for hoofprints.

Suddenly, there came a soft thud from the tack room at the very end of the barn, and the horse's neck twisted around, the ears snapping to startled attention. The night watchman was not in sight at that moment, but up and down the aisle, heads came out of the stalls and ears focused. A wandering barn cat froze into alertness, then trotted toward the tack room with that swinging feline gait, free to satisfy her curiosity. There was nothing more. No person emerged. No further sound broke the silence. The barn was deathly still. After a minute, the cat came back out of the room with nonchalant satisfaction, then sat down in the middle of the aisle to wash her face. The horses, accepting her verdict, lost their focused attention and, like Silver Lining, turned toward the other door in innocent anticipation. Out there in the darkness, the track awaited.

(H/C)

Two hours later, the backstretch was coming to life. The first set of horses to work were heading for the track. People were everywhere, caught up in the smoothly organized bustle of morning duties, but the yellow signs posted regularly made the priorities clear. Horses had the right of way over any other traffic, mechanical or human.

Every car entering the track had to be authorized and checked in. Horatio showed his badge at the security gate, received directions through the maze of barns in return, then drove the Hummer through the gap in the high chain link fence, entering Gulfstream Park. He glanced at the fence with professional appraisal. "Be hard to climb that at night."

Alexx, in the passenger's seat, nodded. "I sure wouldn't want to try it. My kids would try, but they wouldn't make it. You don't know what you'll have in store with Rosalind in a few years, Horatio. They make me wish I could bottle the energy."

Horatio smiled at the mention of Rosalind. "I'm looking forward to it." He braked the Hummer to let a horse cross the path ahead. "Amazing how much activity there is this early. Sorry for dragging you out at this hour, Alexx."

Alexx shrugged. "It was Jonathan's turn to fix breakfast, anyway. I just grabbed a Pop Tart and slipped out to wait for you. Don't tell Janie and Bryan, though."

"Do they have exclusive rights to Pop Tarts?"

"They think so." The Hummer meandered slowly through the tangle of barns, passing an occasional parking area filled with an eclectic mix of Cadillacs, Rolls Royces, and beat-up pickup trucks. "Quite a combination," Alexx said.

"More millionaires in America own a Ford F150 than any other vehicle," Horatio informed her.

"I'll have to tell Jonathan that. Puts him in good company." The Hummer rounded another corner and braked, swinging in behind two police cars. "Here we are."

They climbed out of the vehicle, and Adele, standing in the open door at the end of the barn, called to them. "Morning, H, Alexx."

"For us, anyway," Horatio replied. "What have we got?"

"Pete Carter, groom. 53 years old. He was found dead in the tack room at the end here when the other help started to arrive."

"Did he always get here first?"

"He was sleeping here, apparently." Adele indicated another man hovering in the background, wanting to help but not sure how much help he would be. "This is Mr. Wallace from the track. He says a lot of the barn help stays on the grounds at night."

Wallace stepped forward, and Horatio shook his hand, at the same time nodding to Alexx. She slipped around them into the tack room. "The help travels with the horses, and the horses travel around the country from track to track during racing season. So each track has dormitories. We've got three, and most of the grooms sleep there, but some of them would rather sleep in the tack rooms on cots. We have a tack room at each end of each barn."

"I saw your perimeter security on the way in. Is that totally locked down at night?"

"Absolutely. Nobody unauthorized could possibly get through. We do have a man at the main gate at night, just in case."

"What about the people already here? How many people would be moving around at night?"

"Not many at all. We've got a night watchman in each barn. The grooms or the vets might have a legitimate reason to be up – a sick horse or such – but it's pretty quiet. The watchmen would notice anyone around, even somebody with a good reason to be there."

"How many people are around here? How many watchmen?"

"There are about 400 horses on the grounds right now. Call it at least 250 people, with the grooms, exercise riders. The trainers and the jockeys usually stay in hotels, but a few of them would be living here, too. About the watchmen, we have 33 barns, but not all of them have horses in them at the moment. Most of the horses from the north who winter here don't ship down until mid December. There would be a watchman at each occupied barn, doubling up on the empty ones. We also have the quarantine barn, but it's completely fenced separately. That one is full at the moment, of course."

"Why of course, Mr. Wallace?"

"The Breeders Cup is being held here this Saturday." Wallace automatically fell into his media presentation, a living commercial. "Eight races worth 14 million dollars. Competitors from all around the world. We have 11 different countries competing this year, from England and Ireland to Japan and Dubai. All of the foreign horses have to be kept separate from the Americans. USDA rules."

"Are their barn help kept separate, too?"

"No. They'd be in the dormitories with the rest of them, unless they slept in the barn."

"With that many watchmen, things wouldn't be overextended. I'm impressed with your security, Mr. Wallace."

"Some of these horses are worth millions. There's one in this barn that I know is insured for 20 million, and if he wins Saturday, it'll go up. There are about 110 horses going in the Breeders' Cup races, and they're probably easily worth over 250 million all put together. Our watchmen are very aware of their responsibilities, Mr. Caine. We don't just use rent-a-cops, either. Anyone sneaking around at night wouldn't have an easy time getting into a barn, whether he worked here or not."

Adele spoke up, anticipating the next question. "The watchman at this barn never saw anything odd, never heard anything. He walks around, though, inside and out, checks the whole barn. There were a few minutes here and there when he wouldn't be right in the aisle. He seemed wide awake and competent."

"The security guards wouldn't be sleeping." Wallace was definite. "Not even normally, and certainly not this week."

Horatio nodded, getting the picture. "Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Wallace."

"I hope we can get this cleared up as quickly as possible," the man replied.

"Murder happens anywhere, I'm afraid. It may have nothing to do with the track except the location." Horatio shook the man's hand again. "If I have any further questions, I'll call you."

Horatio slipped past Adele and entered the tack room at the end of the barn. "What have we got, Alexx?"

The ME was kneeling beside the body. "He was stabbed in the abdomen with some kind of weapon, but I can't figure out what it is. It's still in. I don't want to move him until Speed and Eric get here to take pictures."

"They shouldn't be far behind us." Horatio walked around to the other side of the body. It always amazed him how pitifully smaller people looked in death. This man had been small to begin with. At the moment, curled on his side with his hands clenched and the long metal bar across his abdomen, he looked like a broken mannequin. Horatio frowned slightly, studying the weapon. It was about 12 inches long, a handle with a long metal shaft beyond it, then obviously curving back into a hook. The hook was completely buried in the flesh with dark blood staining the clothes around it and pooling slightly on the floor. "What is that? I've never seen anything like it." He looked around the room, which had an organized clutter of saddles, bridles, flannel bandages, buckets, tack trunks, and the cot neatly set up near where Pete Carter had died. Horatio abruptly came to attention, staring at the far wall.

"Horatio?" Alexx asked.

"I think I've found our weapon. Another one of them, anyway." He walked over and plucked the implement off a rack hung with many other things. Horatio couldn't even guess what half of them were. He held the hook in his gloved hand and turned around to display it to Alexx. It looked like nothing else as much as Captain Hook's hook. The fingers wrapped around a bar set in a U-shaped handle, and beyond that, the metal shaft ran for almost a foot before it curved back on itself in a vicious-looking, wide hook at least three inches in diameter, ending in a carefully-honed point. Horatio tested the point. Not knife sharp, but certainly sharp enough to penetrate with some force behind it. He swept the thing lightly through an arc, testing the excellent balance. It was obviously made to be swung at a target and bite deeply into it. He walked back to the body, holding it alongside its buried twin, and he and Alexx compared them.

"I still don't know what it is, but that's definitely our weapon." Alexx looked at it and shivered slightly. "That looks absolutely wicked. Like some medieval torture instrument."

"I wish Calleigh were here," Horatio said, a wistful note displacing the professionalism momentarily. "She's the weapons expert. I'll bet she'd know."

Alexx smiled at him. "You miss starting out these early morning cases with her, don't you? If you're thinking of giving Rosalind back for a refund, I'll take her."

"Not a chance," Horatio replied. "Cal should be here soon. So should Speed and Eric. In fact, they should already be here." He glanced at his watch. "Calleigh will get revenge on me tonight. She's meeting an old college friend for dinner and a movie, and I'll be the one stuck babysitting." He didn't sound too put down by the prospect, though.

Alexx returned her attention to the body. "I haven't moved him, but there's one odd thing that strikes me right away, Horatio. This isn't as much blood as I'd expect."

Horatio tilted his head slightly, considering the small pool. "No, it isn't, is it? Maybe the hook blocked the bleeding somewhat."

"Surely he'd try to pull it out, though. Wrong move, medically, but I might do it myself with that thing in me." She looked at the long hook Horatio held again. "His hands are clenched. He was fighting, but it's like he wasn't fighting the hook. I think we might have two things here. I'll be watching for some second injury along with this one at post."

"Nice work, Alexx." Horatio stepped back and swung the hook again. Alexx shuddered. "It's really designed for this. You know, Alexx, I think we could say from the direction that our killer is right-handed. Also, that he came up behind the vic."

Speed and Eric arrived together at that point. "Nice of you to join us, gentlemen," Horatio said dryly.

Eric grinned, refusing to be reprimanded. "Sorry, H. Traffic is awful, and when you get through the gate, it's worse. You can't drive over 5 miles an hour around here. Too many horses."

Horatio held out the hook. "Have either of you ever seen anything like this?"

Speed shook his head, but Eric hesitated. "Yes. Let's see, um, Amy. Girl I dated a couple of years ago. She had a horse, and she had a couple of those in her barn. I don't know what she used them for, but it's something to do with horses."

"That ought to narrow it down," Speed pointed out, looking around the tack room.

"You two start processing this room," Horatio directed. "Get pictures of the body first, so Alexx can take it. Alexx, do you have TOD?"

"Around 4:15," she replied.

"And the body was found at 4:45. Thank you, Alexx. I'll be talking to the night watchman. Keep me posted." Horatio left, still holding the hook.

Outside, Adele was talking to a tall, thin, worried-looking man. "H, this is Randy Duncan, the trainer of the horses in this barn."

"How long will this take to get cleared up?" Duncan demanded.

"As long as the investigation requires," Horatio replied, letting just an edge of steel show under his voice. He held out the hook. "Can you tell me what this is?"

"It's a hay hook." Duncan shivered himself, like Alexx had. "I don't think I'll ever be able to look at one the same way again."

"You saw the body?" Duncan nodded, and Horatio sighed, imagining hoards of people tracking through the crime scene. "How many people went in there before the police arrived?"

"Ramon found the body. One of my grooms. He ran back out screaming, and the night watchman came over to check. He went in there, and I arrived right after that and went in myself. The other grooms were starting to arrive, and I think two, no three of them started in. Sam, the security man, chased everybody out and stood guard until the police got here."

Horatio mentally saluted Sam. "Did anybody touch anything?"

"The guard was checking for a pulse when I walked in. I didn't see anybody else touch anything, but they might have. I might have touched something myself. I just don't remember." The man really was upset, and Horatio softened his tone slightly.

"What is a hay hook legitimately used for?"

"You swing it at a bale of hay, and the hook sticks in it and gives you a handle. It's a lot easier on the hands to move bales that way than grabbing the baling twine." He pointed to the end of the aisle, where a man was carrying a bale with a hay hook in each end. Both hooks were securely imbedded in the bale, leaving two convenient handles.

"Okay. I want to talk to Ramon and also to the security guard."

Adele spoke up. "The guard went over to the track kitchen for a cup of coffee. He'd been up all night, of course. I told him to come back. I couldn't get much at all out of Ramon. He's scared senseless."

"Let's try again, shall we?" Horatio turned back to the trainer. "Where is Ramon?"

The man pointed. "Grooming his horse. Fifth stall. Mr. Caine, whatever you do, please don't upset that horse. Or Ramon either. I'm trying to stick with routine. That horse has to win Saturday."

Horatio's voice was icy. "There was a person murdered here this morning, Mr. Duncan. I suggest you worry about that more than your routine."

Duncan's eyes fell, and he switched back to apparently genuine grief and shock. "I liked Pete. Really. Everybody liked him, and we'll miss him. But there's nothing I can do for him now."

"Someone obviously didn't like him." Horatio was suddenly tired of talking to this man, who could seem callous one second and grieving the next. It was enough to make anyone dizzy. He was used to summing up people quickly, and this one refused to be summed up. "We'll probably have more questions for you later."

"Is it all right if I go over to the track? I need to watch some workouts. My first set hasn't even been out yet."

"Just don't go in that tack room." Horatio turned away. He returned the hay hook to the tack room for Speed and Eric to check, then headed for the fifth stall. Inside, a Hispanic man was grooming a dapple gray horse, keeping up a sort of broken humming, apparently trying to reassure both of them. "Ramon?" Horatio asked, and the groom jumped, startling the horse. He reached for the halter, speaking softly to the animal, and the gray relaxed.

Horatio noticed that he had used Spanish to the horse and switched languages. "Ramon, I'm Lieutenant Caine with CSI. I need to ask you a few questions."

Ramon came to the front of the stall but stayed inside, with the webbing across the door like a barrier between them. The horse stood next to him, curious, his ears sizing up Horatio. "When you found the body, Ramon, what time was it?" Horatio started with an easy question, trying to establish rapport.

"4:45," came the soft answer.

"Did you see anyone else around the tack room before you went in?"

Ramon turned his head suddenly, looking directly at the horse. After a moment, he looked down at the straw, not Horatio. "No," he replied, even more softly.

"Do you know anyone who had a grudge against Pete?"

"No." He was looking at Horatio again.

"Did everyone know Pete was sleeping in that tack room?"

"Yes."

Horatio slid forward a half step, easily, soothingly. His voice dropped, like he was talking to a child. "Ramon, who are you afraid of?"

The quick, compulsive glance at the horse came before the groom wrenched his eyes back to Horatio. "Nobody. I need to finish my work."

This was obviously a dead end, for the moment anyway. Horatio would try again later. "Thank you, Ramon." He nodded toward the horse. "That's a beautiful horse you have there." He knew this animal didn't belong to the groom, of course, but there was no harm in leaving him on a positive note. It might help for later.

Ramon brightened suddenly, his wide grin totally transforming the dark face. "Thank you." He patted the gray's neck, and the horse turned his head around and bumped him, allowing Horatio to see the nameplate on the halter. Silver Lining. The horse nuzzled the groom, and Ramon reached up to twist an ear, talking to him too softly for the rest of the world to hear. In the horse's eyes, at least, he did belong to this man.

"I'll talk to you a little later, okay?" Ramon nodded, and Horatio walked back down toward the tack room. Adele trailed him.

"He knows more than he's telling us."

"Definitely," Horatio agreed. "I don't think he's guilty, though. He's scared. Did you notice that every time he told us a direct lie, he looked at the horse first?"

"Yes." Adele frowned slightly. "I don't know why, though."

"He didn't want the horse to hear him lie. That's the one thing that was making him feel guilty."

Adele stared at him. "You might be right there. Why should it matter if he lied in front of the horse?"

"That I don't understand." Calleigh arrived at that moment, sweeping into the barn like a ray of sunshine, and Horatio gave her a dazzling smile. "Good morning."

"Morning, Handsome. Again."

"The first time didn't count. Sorry to leave you to deal with everything."

"I doubt you were wasting your time. Besides, your turn is coming tonight." She glanced up and down the barn aisle. "What have we got?"

"A new weapon for you." Calleigh's eyes sparkled in interest. "Pete Carter, former groom, was murdered with a hay hook."

"With a what?"

Horatio stepped into the tack room and picked up the extra hay hook, offering it to Calleigh. She snapped gloves on and took it, studying it professionally, swinging it. "This is a new one. It looks lethal enough, though."

"How's it going?" Horatio asked the team.

"I'm just about ready to move the body," Alexx said. "I haven't found any second wound so far, but it'll be a lot easier to examine him back at the lab."

Speed held up a second camera. "This guy was a photographer, H. It was in his backpack next to the cot. This is a better camera than I've got. Lots of film rolls, too."

"Be sure to get the film. He may have taken a picture someone didn't want him to take."

Speed clicked the door of the camera open. "Already thought of that. I think the last roll of film in this camera was stolen. There's film in here, but it isn't wound. Just a new cartridge stuck in, not wound and ready to shoot. No way this guy would leave his camera like that."

"Nice work." Horatio was impressed. "Eric, keep processing here. Speed, go over to the dormitories – there are three of them – and look in all the trash cans. See if you can find a roll of film. I'll bet he exposed it to ruin the film, then just threw it away. If you find one, notice which room it was in."

"Sure thing, H." Speed set down Pete's camera on the cot and started out the room, hesitating as he passed Calleigh. "Calleigh, tonight is the night you're going out with that college friend, right?"

"Right. Why?"

"No reason. Have fun." He headed on out the door, leaving everyone else in the room staring after him.

"What on earth was that for?" Calleigh wondered.

Horatio shook his head. "When you women figure it out, be sure to tell me."

Adele stuck her head through the tack room door. "H, the security guard is back."

Horatio went back out into the aisle, Calleigh easily falling into step beside him. Sam was a tall, burly man, looking a bit tired at the moment, but he had been up all night. His eyes were still alert, though. Horatio liked him instantly.

"Tell me about last night," he invited.

"I came on at 9:00 p.m. It was a quiet night. Carlos came over at midnight to check on one of his horses who had colicked a few nights ago, but the mare was fine. He went back to the dorm after that. Other than him, I didn't see anybody until they started to arrive this morning. Except for Pete, of course. He went out at about 1:00 to take a picture of the moon."

Horatio stiffened slightly. "Pete was taking pictures at 1:00 this morning?"

"Right. He got the full moon over the grandstand, he said. He was really happy about that shot when he came back. He was a professional, you know. Had one book of horse photos published already last year, and he was working on another. That's why he was grooming. Spending a year taking pictures behind the scenes, life at the track. That sort of thing. He was a good groom, though, really liked the horses. He used to be a jockey."

Obviously, Pete's camera had been loaded correctly at 1:00 this morning. "Is that why he slept in the tack room?" Horatio asked. "So he could slip out at night and take pictures?"

"Right. He wouldn't be disturbing anybody but himself that way. Really considerate, he was. Everybody liked him."

"He died about 4:15, we think. Was there anything at all odd going on then?"

Sam shook his head. "Nothing. Quiet as a mouse. I walked around the outside of the barn about then, but I was only out for a minute. Not enough time to kill someone and get away. I swear, if anybody got in this barn last night and back out without me noticing it, his name was Houdini."

Horatio and Calleigh glanced at each other, sharing the assessment. They believed him. Unfortunately. A murderer with Houdini-like abilities would be harder to catch. Calleigh spoke up, addressing the one other possibility. "Sam, would you hold your arms out, please, and let us look at your uniform?"

He wasn't offended, nor was he nervous. As the only person who admitted being there at 4:15, he knew he had to be ruled out. "Sure." He held out his arms and rotated slowly. There was no blood anywhere on the beige uniform, not even a drop. "You can have them, if you want to. I've got a change of clothes in the car."

"I don't think that will be necessary," Horatio replied. "Tell us about finding the body."

"The grooms were starting to arrive. I was checking in with Ben, the assistant trainer, giving him a report from the night, when Ramon came tearing out of the tack room like the devil was after him. I went in to check, tried to get a pulse, chased everyone out, and called the police."

"And we appreciate it," Horatio assured him. "How many people did you see enter that room?"

"Ramon was there, but I didn't see him enter. I went in. Ben stopped in the doorway. Randy got here about then, and he came on in. Two other grooms, Misael and Bob. I didn't see anybody touch anything. They were all just staring."

"You said you didn't see Ramon enter. So you had your back turned to that end of the barn while you were talking with Ben?"

"Right. We were standing in the far door. We both turned around when Ramon started screaming. I wasn't as much on guard right then, you understand. Everyone was arriving, and my shift was over. I knew there were other people around in the barn then."

"Is it possible that someone else entered the tack room just before Ramon did?"

"It's possible," Sam said. "If there was, though, he didn't react or report it. He'd have to be pretty cold-blooded."

"Murderers frequently are." Sam had finished his coffee and looked forlornly at the empty cup, and Horatio took pity on him. "Thank you for your cooperation, Sam. Give Detective Sevilla your phone number, but you may leave now. Go get some sleep."

Sam gave him a tired smile. "Let me know if I can help you any more." He gave the number to Adele, who had been taking notes.

Horatio stepped back to the open barn door, looking at the backstretch scene. So many people, so many activities going on as usual. It seemed somehow unfair that the world didn't pause to acknowledge a murder. His thoughts returned to Duncan, the trainer who within a minute expressed regret over Pete's death and concern for his horse, not the victim, not his family.

Calleigh stood beside him in easy silence, thinking herself. Finally, she spoke. "The time table on this is awfully tight."

Horatio nodded. "He died at 4:15. Found at 4:45, and at that point, Sam checked for a pulse. I can't see him missing it or not calling for an ambulance if he thought there was any chance at all. We can safely say that Pete wasn't killed right before Ramon found him, although someone might have slipped in to remove the film then. It's not certain that the film thief was the murderer. If someone else found the body and knew he had a compromising picture, he could have snatched the film right there."

Calleigh considered it. "Back to the murderer, though, at 4:15, Sam wasn't out of sight of that tack room for more than a minute or two. To sneak in, kill Pete, and sneak back out in just two minutes, without making a sound, without leaving a blood trail when there should have been some spatter from the wound – this guy is good, Horatio."

Horatio gave her his predatory working smile. "We're better," he stated.