"Typically, serial killers keep on killing until they're caught. Serial murder is an addiction to these guys. It starts out as an urge, then it becomes a compulsion, and eventually it becomes an addiction." Mike Rustigan, Professor of Criminology, San Francisco State University.

(H/C)

The thief stared at his hands, at the table, at the blank walls of the interrogation room, anywhere except at those blue eyes. He couldn't escape them. "I swear, man, I mean Lieutenant, I didn't do nothing. I was walking along minding my own business. I found a body, and I called 911."

Tripp gave a dubious grunt. "Walking along minding your own business at 3:00 AM in a deserted alley?"

The cringing man tried to moisten his lips with his tongue, but his mouth was even drier. "Couldn't sleep. I was just taking a walk. It isn't illegal."

Horatio's voice cut across his protest like a knife, smooth, honed, and deadly. "No, but leaving the scene of a crime when you're a material witness is."

"I called 911."

"And ran." Tripp leaned forward over the table. "Why'd you run, if you didn't do anything?"

For the first time, the man looked at his interrogators directly. "Did you see that body?" Tripp didn't react, but Horatio nodded, conceding the point. "Anybody would've run. Most people wouldn't even have stopped to call. What if he was still around there, man? I got the hell out."

Horatio didn't correct the assumption on the killer's gender. "Tell us about it again, from the beginning."

"I was just walking along minding my own business. I found the body. Ran back up the alley and called 911 at the corner. Didn't touch anything." Horatio and Tripp looked at each other, the thoughts linking silently. He told his story in almost identical words. It was definitely rehearsed. Unfortunately, knowing whatever he had really been doing at 3:00 AM would probably not help their case. He was a low-level thief who had only done small time, which was how he had contributed his fingerprints to AFIS before leaving them on the pay phone. A pleading tone crept into his voice now. "Can I go? I swear, Lieutenant, I never did nothing."

Horatio stepped away from the door, but as the man rose, he briefly took him hostage with his eyes again. "Be sure you keep it that way."

(H/C)

The team gathered in the layout room, running over the evidence that they had, considering each link again. No matter how they looked at it, the chain from evidence to killer was incomplete. "I got a partial print from that Wal-Mart bag," Speed said. "Too partial to match in court."

"You tried running it through the system, though." It was a statement, not a question. He was sure Speed hadn't quit halfway.

"Yeah, for all the good it did. Multiple matches, none of them active in Miami right now. Most of them inside."

Eric contributed the small triumph they had so far. "I got a print off the syringe. It matched that kid found dead one night later, and the drug traces in the syringe had been cut with some distinctive ingredients, same stuff that gradually killed him. Traced the lab location from those and took the gang down. Their leader's looking at murder charges plus drug dealing. So there's one less drug lab in Miami, at least."

"And how many left?" Speed retorted. They were all starting to wear a bit thin chasing dead ends on the serial killer.

"Nice work, Eric," Horatio said, sincere even though still worried about the other case. His velvet tones smoothed over the moment, although Eric hadn't been taking it personally. Speed was just frustrated, like the rest of them.

"The body and the clothes were washed," Horatio continued. "And even Calleigh can't make a 100% match on that bullet, at least not that would hold up in court. It's just too banged up." He smiled at her for a microsecond. "The best thing we have is the note. A woman, in the prime of life, probably single, probably not employed at anything requiring computer skills. What we're going to do is this: In between working other cases, keep running a search on those points in the databases. People recently inside, parolees, anything you can think of. The partial fingerprint might not be hers, so we can't rule out a possible prison link. We're going to keep looking."

"And waiting," Eric said softly.

"Maybe she won't strike again," Calleigh offered. None of them believed it.

(H/C)

Calleigh rolled over in her sleep, reaching for him. The void on the other side of the bed woke her up, and she sat up, listening intently. The gentle, hypnotic creak of the rocking chair from the nursery finally sorted itself out from the other nighttime sounds, and she smiled as she slid out of bed and padded across the hall. A thin finger of light spilled out from under the closed nursery door. He hadn't wanted to disturb her. She opened the door and leaned against the frame for a minute, surveying her family with approval. Horatio looked up at her. "Hey. Didn't mean to wake you up. Rosalind just wanted some attention."

Calleigh came across to run one hand through her daughter's silky hair. Rosalind was almost asleep again, and she gave a tiny murmur of contentment at the touch and snuggled closer to her father. Her eyes didn't open. "What are you doing up, Horatio?"

"I told you, Rosalind . . . "

She silenced him effortlessly with one look. "You were already awake, standing in here, before she woke up."

He didn't deny it, but the CSI in him demanded the chain of evidence. "How do you figure that?"

"She didn't wake me up. I never heard her at all. Therefore, you were standing right by the crib in the first place, and you grabbed her right away."

"You were sleeping pretty soundly."

"Are you questioning a mother's ears, Horatio?"

He smiled, saluting her perception. "Okay, I'll confess. I was standing in here already."

"Now that we're both admitting that, I repeat, what are you doing up?"

His eyes tracked to the window and the shadows gathered outside. "Just wondering what's happening in the city tonight."

Calleigh touched his cheek gently. This case was hard on all of them but Horatio most of all. He felt responsible to the public for the lack of progress in the investigation. He might reassure his people that they were doing their best with what they had, but personally, he felt that he should have been able to do more. "You know, Horatio, I'll bet most people in the city right now are sleeping. We should be, too. Running yourself down won't solve the case faster."

Rosalind was totally asleep now, lost in peaceful dreams of innocence. Horatio studied her for a minute. "I was just thinking, standing here, if there are people like this woman out in the world, I'm glad Rosalind is here, too. The world is going to need more like her." He stood smoothly, never disturbing her, and eased her back into the crib, carefully tucking her in.

"The world needs more like you." Calleigh kissed his throat and gradually worked her way around, managing to switch his thoughts to an entirely different track. She finally pulled away, reaching out to flick off the nursery light. "Come on, Horatio. You know the best cure for insomnia?"

He willingly let himself be led out of the nursery. "Remind me."

(H/C)

The body lay in the lot behind a used appliance store. Carcasses of old refrigerators and stoves, too derelict to be sold even at this place, were tumbled around the back lot, and the body lay between two overturned refrigerators. Horatio studied it carefully, then looked back toward the rear door of the store, where the owner was propped up by the door frame. The man still looked pale. He had vomited when he found the body, and the smell of that mingled with the smell of charred flesh. The mutilations had been much deeper this time, and there were two lines down the chest, not one. Tally marks, like Horatio had feared. Once again, the clothes were in a neat pile by the feet.

Calleigh was taking a statement from the store owner. Speed was taking photos of the body and surrounding area, and Eric was combing carefully through the lot, looking for anything useful. Speed finished filming and stepped back, and Horatio knelt by the body. "Help me out here, Speed. Let's move him carefully, but I want to see if there's a note under him." They eased the man onto his side, trying to disturb his position as little as possible. Horatio again noted that rigor mortis had fully worn off. The note was waiting underneath the body, carefully placed under the center. Speed took two pictures of it, and then Horatio pulled it out and they eased the body back down. "This is the second one to die." The handwriting was the same, and the gap before the word second was very slightly stretched.

Calleigh came up behind them and studied the note. "The owner isn't much use. He said nobody uses the lot for anything. It's just his personal junkyard. He has no idea how long the body has been here."

"I'm sure Alexx can help us out there. I don't think it's been too long. The insects haven't really gotten to him yet." Horatio glanced at the two refrigerators framing the body. "Look at the layout here. This is probably one of the few spots in this lot where she could get two appliances to make a perfectly parallel frame. She likes symmetry. She even dragged him farther to get this particular spot." The evidence that the body had been dragged was clear this time. The lot had been paved in the very distant past, but it was so broken that weeds and dirt had long since overcome the asphalt. Clear drag marks were visible from the man's feet, along with odd-looking footprints.

Speed was busy photographing one of the footprints. "I think she definitely wore bags around her feet again, H. Proves the partial on that other bag is from her."

"Be sure you measure them. Even if we can't get shoe tread, we can at least get rough size."

Eric approached. "You can tell where the car was parked. Same leaks, and this time, I think we can get a tire track. I'll get a cast of it. Also, eight condoms in various spots. I guess the owner's wrong about this lot not being used."

Calleigh glanced at the looming appliances. "Who could feel alone here? It would be like they were watching, especially in the dark. Not my idea of a place for romance."

"I doubt they were calling it romance, Calleigh," Speed said.

The body haulers arrived at that point, parking well away from the area and threading their way through the junkyard in a businesslike slouch. Horatio stood over the body, and this time, he did not move aside as usual when they came up. "Gentlemen." They hesitated, confused by the break in routine. "I am sure that you will treat this victim, as well as the details of this ongoing investigation, with all the consideration and confidentiality they deserve." His eyes nailed them individually, and a chill cut through the steamy morning. One of them looked puzzled, but the other looked guilty, then innocent in rapid-fire succession. Horatio held him for a second longer, then stepped aside. The usual CSI discussion about the case was stilled as the body haulers performed their task in silence. Only after they were gone did the hum of work resume.

(H/C)

Alexx shivered. "She's escalating, Horatio. These burns went a lot deeper."

"Multiple burns, too, instead of one X. There's still a pattern, but it isn't quite as neat." Horatio shivered himself. "Those two burns down the chest are absolutely parallel, but the ones on the genitals are just slightly blurred. She was enjoying it too much to be as careful this time. What else can you tell me, Alexx?"

"Cause of death is the same, gunshot wound to the head."

Calleigh held out the bullet in its little plastic vial. "This one didn't ricochet quite as badly. I might be able to match it to a gun, if not to the other bullet."

"All injuries were postmortem, and again, he'd been dead 36 hours or so. The body was washed, but there are two things." Alexx uncovered a foot. "Debris between his toes and under his toenails. She dragged him through that lot."

"This vic is only average size, too. She's definitely small herself, I think. What's the other point, Alexx?"

Alexx went back to the hands, picking one up in clinical triumph. "There's some kind of grease stuck under his fingernails. She didn't totally get that off with washing. I sent samples up to trace, but I was wondering if it's some kind of car grease. Maybe she asked him to help her change a tire or to look at something on her car. This one hadn't been drinking. Asking for help on her car would have the same effect, though. She could take him off guard that way, and almost any man would fall for it. He'd be too caught up in demonstrating his superior auto knowledge to notice any threat."

Calleigh nodded. "I think it's a badge of manhood or something. A woman can't even say she's having trouble with her car without any man within earshot feeling the need to diagnose it on the spot. It's like doing routine car maintenance themselves, if they have time at all. The average man has to do it. It's not masculine to do nothing with your car. They have to at least change the oil themselves or something."

Horatio was following this exchange with a slightly puzzled expression. "I just go to Jiffy Lube, myself."

"Horatio, you are not the average man. Honestly, I think 90% of men would come right along and be totally off guard if she asked them to look at her car." Calleigh inserted a probe into the bullet wound and nodded. "Angled shot. He was bending over."

"Nice work, ladies. I'll go see how Speed and Eric are doing. Keep me posted." Horatio left the autopsy bay, and Alexx looked at Calleigh.

"Does he really go to Jiffy Lube?"

Calleigh nodded. "So help me God. I'm more interested in mechanical stuff than he is. He thinks looking at cars outside of an investigation is a waste of time."

Alexx shook her head admiringly. "One in a million you've got there, honey. Hang onto him."

Calleigh tossed her hair back. "Believe me, I intend to."

(H/C)

The transparent board was divided into two sections with one clean slash of Horatio's marker. At the top of one section, he wrote similarities, at the other, differences. He then turned back to the team, waiting.

Calleigh spoke up first. "Both times, the vic was shot with a .22 handgun. I think it was the same gun, but the defense attorney wouldn't agree."

"The defense attorney isn't at this conference." Horatio wrote 'same gun, .22' under similarities.

"Physically, they were both on the small side for men," Alexx said. "Hair was absolutely black, too. True black, not dark brown. That's a bit unusual."

Horatio wrote it down. "I think we can safely assume that that's part of her criteria for victims." He moved over to the other column. "On the other hand, there were no similarities in victimology. Nothing beyond the appearance and the manner of death to tie them together. One left in an alley, the other in a back lot, but both locations pretty deserted by Miami standards."

"Both taken at a point of weakness," Eric said. "She's got to be small. She doesn't want a fight."

"No connection on dates," Speed pointed out. "First one died on a Monday night, dumped on a Tuesday night. Second one died on a Saturday night, dumped on a Sunday night."

Horatio finished writing and stepped back, studying the board. "Also, she has a place where she can safely keep bodies for at least 24 hours without anyone noticing. Those mutilations took time. She drives a car with a few leaks and fairly worn tires. Is that everything?"

"Everything but the name," Speed said.

Horatio looked through the clear plastic beyond to the killer. "She has a name. We just don't know it yet." He spun back around with smooth intent to face his team. "But we will."

(H/C)

Calleigh parked in the short-term parking at the airport and briskly rounded the car to extract Rosalind from her car seat. "We're going to meet your uncle, Rosalind. You be nice to him, you hear? And try not to spit up on him, okay? He's not used to kids." Rosalind chattered happily in response, and Calleigh finished unhooking the last strap and picked her up. "Okay, let's go. What do you bet the plane is late?" She headed for the glass and concrete structure. A small woman, barely her own size, passed her going the other way, and Calleigh couldn't help eyeing her clinically, trying to picture her with a gun or a cigarette lighter. Her mind was still partly at CSI. She felt guilty about taking this afternoon off, although Horatio had insisted that CSI could run without her for a few hours. "Difficult, but we'll manage," he had said, and she had filed that line mentally to throw back at him one day. Honestly, there wasn't much they could do with the serial killer case except run their endless searches through databases. Everything they had still didn't add up to the killer's identity.

The plane was on time, for a wonder, scheduled to arrive shortly, and Calleigh went to the waiting area near that gate. There ahead of her were a few other people on the chairs and Travis Fox on the television. "This is Travis Fox with an exclusive on the serial killer case. KMIA has obtained exclusive evidence that this serial killer is, in fact, female. Yes, a female serial killer is stalking Miami, a Black Widow, shall we say, extracting vengeance on men. Yes, we will call her the Black Widow from now on. She hasn't struck since the beginning of this week, but who knows what webs she is spinning right now. Perhaps more progress would be made on this case if women were leading the investigation, instead of Horatio Caine from CSI. Unfortunately, CSI seems to be at a standstill. Meanwhile, the Black Widow's death toll rises."

Calleigh ground her teeth together, wanting to throw something at this sanctimonious idiot who dared to question Horatio's competence. A man in the nearest chair shook his head. "Jeez, Travis, give it a rest, would you? Do you think you're helping things?" But he did not turn away from the screen.

Calleigh abruptly snapped. "Do you think you're helping things? If he didn't have an audience, the station wouldn't keep him on. No, it's people like you who keep up the demand for reporters like him. You call it biased sensationalism, feeding off people's pain, and everything else in the book, but the one thing you never do is change the channel. Did it ever occur to you that without people like you, Miami wouldn't have to put up with him?" Rosalind reached up, touching her mother's face in wonder, bringing her back to her senses. The man was staring at her, as was everyone else in the waiting area.

"Look, lady," he said, "I'm just waiting for a plane. I didn't pick the channel, and I do change it at home. As far as I'm concerned, he isn't a reporter; he's a parasite."

Calleigh suddenly felt smaller than her own daughter, who was still watching her with puzzled concern. "I'm sorry," she said. "Really. He just gets on my nerves sometimes. I had no right to take it out on you." She touched her daughter. "I'm sorry, Rosalind. It's okay." Rosalind wasn't quite convinced.

The man gave her an easy grin, dismissing the awkward moment. "I understand. No problem. That's a cute baby you have there."

Calleigh relaxed herself. "Thank you." Slowly, stiffly, their remaining audience returned to staring at either their newspapers or the walls. No one looked at the television. Calleigh firmly turned her back to Travis Fox and wandered over to a window where she could see a plane landing in the distance. She wondered if it was Peter's. "See the plane out there, Rosalind?" She pointed planes out as they landed and took off, and Rosalind relaxed and started looking around again, watching the world with her usual contented interest. Before long, Peter's plane did pull up to the gate, and the stream of passengers flowed into the waiting area. The television was forgotten in the sounds of reunion.

Peter was one of the last off the plane. Calleigh was always surprised on seeing him at how dark he was, the jet black hair and dark complexion. They looked nothing like siblings, though he also was slightly built. DNA isn't external, she reminded herself. He approached her slowly, tentatively, and she met him halfway. Discarding an absurd impulse to shake hands – they were family, after all – she gave him a one-armed hug. "Peter, great to see you again. This is Rosalind."

Peter reached out to touch the baby. "Hi, Rosalind. I've heard a lot about you." She eyed him coolly, and Calleigh smiled.

"She takes a while to warm up to people. She'll get to know you."

"Don't blame her. I take a while to warm up to people myself. How are things, Calleigh?"

"Wonderful." His dark, uncertain eyes probed into her, trying to read her response on a level she didn't understand. Probably he was just still a little unsure of his welcome around her. Too many years of misunderstandings and abandonment lay behind them to be forgotten quickly. She smiled at him. "Really, Peter. Rosalind is perfect, and Horatio is Horatio. I couldn't be happier."

He relaxed a bit. "How is Horatio? He really was sick for a while there."

It was Calleigh's turn to tense up, remembering. "Yes, he was. It took him a few months to start feeling like himself again, but then he really started to pick up. The doctors are thrilled with how well he's doing now. Back to his old self. Honestly, you'd never know."

"Good. I would have come sooner to see Rosalind, but I didn't want to be in the way. Honestly, if I'm in the way now, Cal, just shove me out the door. I can take a hint."

She smiled at him. "You aren't in the way, Peter, and you need to get to know Rosalind. One day is strictly reserved, though. September 25th is our anniversary, and we won't be available that day."

"Where are you going?"

Calleigh gave him the totally relaxed, impish smile she used to give him too many years ago, when they were both young kids, still unscarred from their parents. "We aren't going anywhere, but the rest of the world is."

His answering smile dissolved the tension between them. "Understood. If I'm still here, I'll just conveniently get lost."

"Thank you, Peter." They had been standing all this time as the crowd thinned out around them. "We'd better get moving, or Horatio will beat us home." He started walking with her, then stopped, puzzled, as Calleigh froze and turned back.

"This is Travis Fox with KMIA, breaking news here. The Black Widow has struck again. Yes, the Black Widow has struck again. The death count stands at three. More details as soon as we have them. I am en route to the scene now to keep the people of Miami informed."

Calleigh faced Peter. "I don't think Horatio's going to beat us home after all."