"Water, water everywhere, nor any drop to drink."

Samuel Taylor Coleridge, the Rime of the Ancient Mariner

(one of the most often misquoted lines in literature)

(H/C)

Horatio's first task the next morning was to reshuffle work assignments. He wanted his best people on Steve Parker's case, but he had to insure coverage for the other cases that would come in today and for older cases still in progress. Normally, he liked for his people to follow individual cases from beginning to end, not only for continuity with the evidence but for their own closure. This was different, though. This was one of their own, and for this case, he would pull people off others. No one objected, not even the rest of the CSIs who had their workload increased and unfinished cases suddenly dumped on them, requiring them to start by reading notes instead of analyzing evidence. The word was out on the grapevine, the mood of everyone in the police building complex subdued. Grim determination replaced team banter.

Tripp found Horatio in his office a little later. "Ready?"

"I think I've got everything rearranged." He picked up the printed data sheets on the convicts released in the last year. "We have 32 people here. Of those, we've found current addresses for 28. Let's go see what they know."

"Course, we haven't got warrants," Tripp pointed out.

"Maybe we can at least find out where we need to get them." Horatio glanced at his watch, wondering what Steve was going through right now. "Calleigh and Eric are both watching videos, and Speed is trying for anything else on that envelope and letter. That memo went out?"

Tripp nodded. "Yesterday. Every secretary and receptionist is on guard. If he comes back in here to drop another envelope in the mail, he's walking straight into a trap."

"Let's hope he returns, then." They headed for the elevator, both unconsciously walking a little faster than usual.

(H/C)

Calleigh usually loved Miami. It was such a restless, energetic city, always in motion, like her. Right now, though, she wished she was processing tapes from the PD in some tiny town of a few hundred citizens. "I never realized how many people come in and out of the police buildings at night." She watched another one head in, pick up an accident information form from the front desk, and walk back out.

Eric, watching his own separate screen, sighed. "Tell me about it. At least several of the areas are restricted to the public at night, or we could be watching twice this many tapes." Calleigh groaned. On Eric's screen, a man entered, stopped at the front desk in that section, and obviously tried to hit on the nightshift secretary. Eric admired her restraint. "This is the best chance we've got, though. This and the parolees. There's nothing on that envelope and letter, no prints, no trace. You can't even really analyze the writing from block letters."

"Maybe Speed will find something he missed last night." Calleigh doubted it. "By the way, Eric, thank you for sending Horatio home last night."

Eric grinned. "He was lecturing me about going home and getting a little sleep, and he looked worse than I did. That's H for you." On his screen, a drunk entered and propped himself with alcoholic balance on the edge of the secretary's desk before throwing up into her trash can.

Calleigh was watching an argument that had been transferred from its original point, most likely the scene of an accident. Two people were in animated, probably obscene conversation, while the secretary's shoulders said that she would rather be working in Podunk than Miami at the moment, too. Calleigh sighed. This was going to be a long day.

(H/C)

Speed was going over his envelope and letter once again, trying to think of anything he hadn't tried yet. Unfortunately, he couldn't. He read the message again and felt a tightening in his stomach. He hated instincts and bad feelings, always trying to define things in terms of science, but he could tell without his instruments that this perp was sick.

A man who looked vaguely familiar stopped at the door of Trace. "Have you seen Horatio around?"

"Not since early this morning. He's out with Tripp tracking parolees." Speed glanced at his watch. It was almost 1:30. He'd worked straight through lunch without realizing it. "Could I help you with something?"

The man suddenly noticed the letter and envelope on the table. "You're processing the letter? We just got another one. It came in the noon mail run." He extended an envelope.

Speed quickly pulled out an evidence envelope and handed it over. "Put it in there, then sign your name and where you got it on the front. Got to preserve the chain of evidence."

"Right." The man bent over the table to sign. Speed still couldn't remember his name.

"You work in Narcotics?"

"Yes. Chapman. The secretary on weekdays gave this to me. She wasn't the one who got the first letter yesterday." He handed the envelope back to Speed, who signed his own name on the front. "Have you found anything yet?"

"Not yet," Speed said. "Maybe this one will tell us more." He pulled the envelope out. It was identical to the other, no stamp, simply addressed to Narcotics. "Wait a minute. This came through interdepartmental mail again. All the secretaries were supposed to watch for anyone to add anything to their out baskets."

"Ours was," Chapman said. "She swears it came with the delivery from the mail room. She's been careful to watch all morning."

"Well either someone else hasn't been, or we've got an insider." Speed pulled the message out of the envelope and pressed it flat on the table. In block letters, it stated, 'Amazing that with all the water surrounding Florida, you can't drink any of it. Without fresh water, people still die, even here.'

Speed pulled out his cell phone. "H? We've got another letter." He snapped the phone shut after a minute. Chapman was still hovering, wishing he could do something more. "Thank you, Mr. Chapman. Horatio's on his way back. I'll take it from here."

Chapman reluctantly started for the door. Almost there, he turned back. "Make sure you catch this son of a bitch."

"We will," Speed promised. As Chapman left, he pulled out the fingerprinting materials, starting with the envelope. Someone had put it in interdepartmental mail, and this time, the odds were much less that a citizen had managed it.

(H/C)

Alexx was working on a homicide victim, multiple stab wounds. She looked up as Horatio entered the autopsy bay, surprised to see him down here when he was so wrapped up in the Steve Parker case. Steve, fortunately, had not yet entered her jurisdiction, and she hoped he wouldn't have to. "Horatio." The word was greeting and question rolled into one.

"I have a medical question to ask you."

Alexx put down her instruments. "This poor man won't mind waiting a few minutes."

Horatio's eyes traveled in automatic sympathy to the man on the table before he spoke. "Exactly how long can people live without water?"

"You think Steve's being held without any water?"

"We got a second note today which implied it. How long, Alexx? I want a figure."

Alexx sighed. "I can't give you an exact one, I'm afraid. Too many variables."

"Such as?"

"Activity level, for one. Exercising will get you dehydrated faster. Physical condition going into it."

"Steve's physical condition was very good."

Alexx heard the desperate hope behind the statement and hesitated, not wanting to continue her list. Horatio nailed her without saying a word, and she continued. "Physical condition while you're without water matters, too. If he's injured in any way, that would make it a lot worse, and that's something we don't know. Stress also speeds up the process."

"And that's something we can make a good guess at. The way this man is playing with us, I hate to think what he's doing with Steve. How long, Alexx? Give me a range, if you can't give me a definite day."

"It varies individually, too, all else being the same. There are cases where people have lasted well over a week without water."

"What's the bottom estimate?"

Her dark eyes met his and fell. "About three days."

He nodded. "And this is the second day. Thank you, Alexx." He left the strained courtesy hanging in the air between them, turned, and walked out of the autopsy bay, his steps perfectly measured and controlled.

She stood watching the door long after he had left. To her trained mind, hope had just vanished. Injured, tortured, stressed as he must be, Steve had no chance unless he was found soon. Breaks on cases could come quickly, but Horatio knew, and she knew from his posture, that he was nowhere close to solving this one. For the first time in her career, Alexx found herself standing over a victim and crying not for her current patient but for a future one.

(H/C)

The headache was no longer on the side of his head but all over, pressure from the inside out, pressure from the outside in. He gritted his teeth against the pain. His body was shivering uncontrollably now.

Keep thinking. He had to keep thinking.

The footsteps echoed their approach, and the flashlight stabbed him as the door overhead swung open. He closed his eyes, and the light reached through anyway, conspiring with the headache.

"How are we feeling today? Not too good, huh? Prison does that to people, too. You either knuckle under, or you get tougher. Are you weak or strong, Parker?"

He still couldn't quite place the voice. This wasn't even an interrogation; the voice wanted nothing from him. Nothing but misery.

His eyes were still closed, but he heard the taser being drawn just above him, the grip tightening, the weapon ready for action. He braced himself. The shock did not come. Silence echoed, though he knew the voice had not left, not while the air and the flashlight still guarded the opening.

Get it over with, damn you.

Several ticks later, he couldn't stand it. The anticipation was almost worse than the pain. He opened his eyes, trying to make out anything against the light, and the voltage immediately hit him, sending him into his obscene dance against the pipe. The laugh came. He hated the laugh as much as the taser now.

The voltage stopped, and the flashlight shifted its aim as it was set down on the floor overhead instead of held pointing straight at him. Still, the door didn't close. Instead, there came a familiar click that sent a reaction ripping through every nerve ending in his body, almost like a taser of sound. The crisp snap of a can being opened. The man drank above him, pausing several times to smack his lips in appreciation. "Good stuff, Parker. Ice cold. Not too hot today, since it's December, but I still say there's nothing like a nice cold drink to refresh you." He took the last few noisy glugs from the can, then turned it over, letting the final drops of liquid fall onto Steve's forehead. Steve twisted, unable to stop himself, desperately trying to get that liquid into him. It ran down his nose, across the tape, and trickled away as the laughter rang above him.

When the door finally swung shut, Steve lay there still feeling that thin, damp trail across his chin, then down the side of his neck. No doubt the mice and bugs were enjoying the liquid on the floor beneath the pipe. He refused to let himself cry, to lose the precious liquid tears, but for the first time in all of this, he wanted to. Not for his wife, or his children, or things undone in life, but over a thin, wasted trail of cheap beer.

(H/C)

"Hey. How's it going?"

Calleigh and Eric both turned from their screens to find Horatio leaning against the door in his classic manner, propping himself up casually while his body still proclaimed that he could easily stand alone if he had to. "Not much progress," Calleigh admitted.

Eric stood, stretching his legs. "I think I'll go get a cup of coffee." He slipped past Horatio out the door.

"Sit down." Calleigh waved a hand invitingly at Eric's chair.

"I've got other things to do. I was just checking in for a minute." He didn't peel himself off the doorway to leave, though.

"Sit down for just a minute, then." Horatio hesitated another few seconds, then dropped into the chair. It felt amazingly good to get off his feet. Come to think of it, he couldn't remember sitting down other than driving since he had left his office this morning. "What's wrong, Horatio?"

He didn't give the obvious response. She knew him, and he knew her, too well for that. "We got a second letter."

"Did they catch the man who left it?"

"No. Somehow, it got into the interdepartmental mail unseen again. Might be more videos for you to watch, I'm afraid." He stared at Eric's screen, at the blinking phrase. Pause. Exactly.

"A lot of this job is ruling things out. You've said that yourself. It isn't a waste of time, Horatio."

"I wouldn't mind if we were just wasting our time, but I hope we're not wasting Steve's, and I'm afraid . . ." His voice trailed off.

Calleigh reached over to put a hand on his arm, reinforcing their connection. "What did the note say, Horatio?"

"It basically said that he's holding Steve without water until he dies of thirst. Not in those words, but that's what he meant." He looked from the screen to Calleigh. "I asked Alexx how long he could survive. She said he could die in three days." His fists tightened suddenly on air, and it slipped through his grasp and escaped, taunting him. "This is the second day, Calleigh, and we're getting nowhere."

"You and Tripp haven't found anything with the parolees?"

"We've talked to nine. One of them was actually making meth in his garage with the garage door open when we walked up." He gave her a hollow grin that almost immediately faded. "Probably at least half of them deserve to be back in jail on new charges, but I don't think any of them so far could have planned this. The intelligence behind it is missing." He glanced at his watch. "And I ought to be back out there working on more of them while Speed processes the new letter. I just needed to see you for a minute." He stood up. Calleigh stood up herself and caught him in a desperate hug, sharing his urgency, sharing the burden. He relaxed against her for a minute, then straightened up. "Thanks, Cal." His cell phone rang, and he pulled it out and snapped it open. "Horatio."

It was Speed, sounding almost excited. "H, I'm still working on that letter, but I just isolated one print from the envelope that doesn't belong to somebody in Narcotics or in the mail room. Craig Weston. He's a dispatcher."

"Nice work, Speed." Horatio ended the call, then immediately dialed. "Frank? We might finally have something useful."

(H/C)

Craig Weston finished routing an officer to a fight and carefully noted the call in his log. A hand like a vise suddenly seized his shoulder, spinning him around in his chair to face two blue lasers fixed on him with deadly aim. "Start talking, and start talking fast," Horatio demanded in a tone of fierce softness.

"What the . . . Horatio, what's wrong?" His eyes moved past him to Tripp for assistance. Tripp looked like he'd rather grab the other shoulder and help Horatio in pinning Weston to his computer screen.

"Where did you get the letter?"

"What letter?" The vise tightened on his shoulder. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"The one addressed to Narcotics in block letters that you put in interdepartmental mail this morning."

"Oh, that letter. I found it."

"Try a better one," Tripp threatened, coming a half step closer.

"Really, I found it. I was just coming in this morning, and it was lying on the floor in the back of the elevator, like someone had dropped it. It didn't belong to anybody there; I asked around. No return address, but it was clearly labeled, so I picked it up and put it in the mail myself." Horatio, reluctantly starting to be convinced of his sincerity, loosened his grip.

"You didn't see who dropped it?"

"No, but you know what the elevator's like in the mornings, with everyone coming in at the same time. Hell, I've dropped things myself in crowded elevators and not noticed, and nobody else on board did, either."

Horatio's hand dropped helplessly away, releasing him. "That was the second letter from Steve Parker's captor."

Weston's eyes widened. "I'm sorry, Horatio. I didn't know."

Tripp smacked his hand down against a nearby file cabinet. "My fault. I had all the secretaries and receptionists informed about the details of the letter and the printing so they'd be on guard. Didn't send it to everybody. You don't have a front-line desk."

"I didn't ask you to notify everybody," Horatio said softly, looking down.

"We both should've thought of it, H. I'm the one who approved the memo."

Horatio looked back at Weston, and the lasers had reversed aim. His anger was now internally directed. "I'm sorry, Weston. If you find any more envelopes lying around addressed to Narcotics in block letters, bring them directly to CSI."

"I will," Weston assured him. "I want Steve to be found as much as anybody."

Horatio and Tripp headed back for the elevator. "You realize what this means, don't you, Frank?"

Tripp nodded. "We can't be sure that the one yesterday wasn't delivered the same way. He might not have come all the way to a desk." They entered the elevator, and Tripp pushed the button for his floor.

"Which means," Horatio said, "that everything we've been doing with the video tapes for the last day may be totally irrelevant."

"Don't know that, though. I'll get a message put out to everyone on weekends, see if anybody picked up an envelope to Narcotics any time Saturday night. That will take some time to find everybody who was here, though. I'll also have everybody clear down to the janitors notified to be watching for these. That'll fix the mistake on the first memo."

"It probably fixes it too late, though."

Tripp bumped him awkwardly on the shoulder with his hand as the elevator door opened. "I'll meet you in 30 minutes, and we'll go back out after the parolees. My mistake as much as yours, H."

The elevator doors slid closed behind him, and Horatio studied them for a moment before pushing his button. "I'm sure knowing that would mean a lot to Steve Parker right now."

(H/C)

Horatio sat in his office that night, running computer searches, trying once again to track down the missing parolees in any database. They had simply walked out the doors of the prison and vanished. All were wanted for parole violation for failure to report, but you had to find a man to arrest him.

Rosalind abruptly landed on his desk with a thump, stretching her arms toward him. "Dada!" Horatio stared at the apparition blankly. Maybe he was more tired than he thought. Rosalind scrambled across the desktop to him, cheerfully knocking papers askew in her journey, and attached herself to the front of his shirt. Horatio picked her up and raised his eyes to meet Calleigh's. "Sorry. I didn't hear you come in."

"I know." She refused to sit down in one of the chairs in front of the desk, determined that this confrontation would not last long enough to need it. "It's time to go home, Horatio. Past time."

He looked at his watch. It was 7:30. "I can't, Cal. Steve's out there somewhere, and time's running out for him."

"So tell me, without looking, the exact details of the last search you ran." Horatio's eyes started to sidle toward the computer screen. "Without looking, Horatio. Name, database, information entered, results. Let's hear it."

He sighed. "I can tell you the results, at least. Nothing."

"You're too tired to be thinking straight, Horatio. You're likely to miss something, and that won't help Steve. You've got a few people on night shift still watching the tapes, and everyone on patrol is looking for Steve's car. If we get a break before tomorrow, you need to be ready to work it." She looked at him steadily. "You're just spinning your wheels up here right now. You sent everyone else home long since. Let's go home, Horatio."

"Home!" Rosalind said brightly, and Horatio gave her a tired grin. Calleigh waited. She knew from the slump of his shoulders that she had won, but he didn't know it yet, and she gave him time for the discovery. Finally, he stood up, switching the computer off one-handed while holding Rosalind with the other.

"Okay. But if we get anything new, I'm coming back in."

"Of course," Calleigh agreed. She tucked her arm through his free one, and they walked out of his office together.

(H/C)

The phone beat the alarm clock by an hour. "Horatio."

"Tripp. We've got Steve's car and the man who had it. Traffic patrol made the plate and stopped him. I'm at HQ."

"I'll be right there." He hung up the phone, switched on the light, and gave Calleigh a quick kiss as he climbed out of bed. "We have the car and driver."

"Go on," she said needlessly. He was dressed and out the front door in under five minutes. Calleigh got up herself much more slowly, wondering about Steve, hoping about the case, praying that he was still alive. This was the third day.

(H/C)

Carlos Jiminez couldn't remember being this frightened in his life. He'd had a few run-ins with the police, but not like this. Everybody there, from the detective to the redhead to the guards, wanted to pound him into a pancake, and it showed.

"Where did you get the car?" Tripp demanded, leaning over the table to get right into Carlos' face. Carlos shrank back, and Horatio, hovering behind him, pushed him firmly back forward. Carlos couldn't decide if the bull in front or the panther behind was more dangerous.

"I found it."

"Try again." Horatio pushed him clear into the edge of the table. Tripp's eyes were only inches away.

"I swear, I swear on my mother's grave. I found it. Right there in the alley, keys and all."

"So you just helped yourself," Horatio stated. "You expect us to believe that? You have a rap sheet a page long."

"I'm a thief. I'll admit it. I stole the car. But really, he shouldn't have left it there, keys right there in it. Too tempting, man. He was asking for it to be stolen. He could've at least locked the doors."

Horatio slammed him forward. The edge of the table was a knife across his chest, cutting into him. "That man was . . . is a police officer. If he was out of his car, he got out of it to help someone or to put away a worthless excuse for a person like you."

Carlos cringed. "I didn't know it was a cop's car. It wasn't marked. Think I'd be stupid enough to steal a cop's car? I never saw nobody, I'm telling you. Just the car."

Horatio released the pressure and walked around to join Tripp in a frontal assault. Carlos swallowed nervously. "Your rap sheet just went way beyond theft, Carlos. You're involved in the abduction of an officer. If he . . ." Horatio paused for a second, then continued with even more force. "If he dies, you're an accessory to murder."

"But I never even saw him! I just stole a car."

Horatio shook his head slowly. "You stole evidence, Carlos. If you aren't an accessory by conspiracy, you're an accessory after the fact, and you're going down for it."

Tripp leaned in closer again. "Name the alley. Lie to me, and I'll drive you out there myself, tied by chains to the back bumper."

Carlos shivered and named the address. Horatio and Tripp headed for the door, and Horatio turned back just before leaving. "If you're lying to me, I'll tie you by chains to my back bumper, too, and Tripp and I can race each other there." He whirled without waiting for a response and left.

Carlos was trembling. He looked at the two guards still in the room. "All I did was steal a car," he whined.

"Shut up," said the first guard. The second drew his night stick and ran it thoughtfully through his hand.

Carlos shut up.

(H/C)

Horatio entered his office about 1:00 with a cup of coffee and sat down, picking his way through the paperwork on his desk, sorting out any reports that had to deal with Steve's case. The team had spent the morning processing the alley, all except for Speed, who had been processing Steve's car. Horatio had left one other person working on tracking the missing parolees and one watching tapes, but they must have gone to lunch. They wouldn't have left without a report, positive or negative. He found the results and scanned them quickly. Nothing.

Speed slouched in. "H. Valera thought she saw you go up here." He sat down in front of the desk. "I've been over the car. Prints from everyone in the family there, along with Carlos and a few friends. They're both small time thieves, like he is. Steve kept it pretty clean. I don't think the perp was ever in it. Here are the names on Carlos' friends, though." He handed over his report.

Horatio sighed. "I don't think the perp was there, either. I think he lured Steve to the alley somehow, probably said there was someone hurt back there and asked him to bring the car. Steve would help anybody. Then, when Steve got out and went around the dumpster, the perp probably hit him on the head, then got his own car and just left Steve's sitting there in the alley. Eric found an oil leak. Might not be the right car, of course. Calleigh found a piece of wood that had a few hairs on it. I brought it back with me." He pulled out that evidence envelope and handed it over to Speed, who signed on the front. "Run DNA on the hairs. Susan gave us some of Steve's hairs for comparison if we needed his DNA. Try fingerprints, too, but it's obvious this perp wears gloves."

"Are Eric and Calleigh still working the scene?"

"Much as they can. It's been three days. Half of Miami could have been through there." Three days. Steve could be dying. Steve could already be dead.

"Lieutenant Caine?" A woman was standing uncertainly in the office door, holding an envelope. "I'm secretary in Narcotics during the week. We've got another one."

Horatio snapped on gloves and reached for it, handing her an evidence envelope from his desk at the same time. "Sign on the front, please." She signed it on the corner of his desk while he studied the envelope. "This one came through the U.S. mail. It's been stamped."

Speed peered at the postmark. "One of the main post offices. They have their own zip code."

The secretary shook her head helplessly. "I've been watching everywhere I walk for envelopes on the ground, and I'm afraid to take my eyes off my mail baskets. Everybody else I've talked to today has been watching too. I processed all the ID mail before I started on the U.S. mail, looking for another letter. And he starts mailing them instead. It's almost like he got that last memo."

Horatio shook his head. "It's Tuesday. He couldn't mail them to reach us Sunday or even Monday from the Post Office. The one Monday would have had to be mailed Saturday morning before he actually got Steve if he wanted to use the regular mail, and he wouldn't do that, just in case something went wrong. He'll probably use the Post Office from now on, except for Sundays." He realized a second after saying it that he had automatically just assigned a duration of several weeks to this case. "That is, until we catch him." He smiled at the secretary. "Thank you for your diligence. Please scan through the U.S. mail from now on as soon as you get it. It helps to get these as soon as possible. And even though he's switched to the Post Office, keep your eyes open."

"I will," she promised. She left the office, and Horatio removed the letter from the slit envelope. He stared at the page, and the block letters stared back, mocking him. 'Ever read the last act of Hamlet?'

"What's this one say?" Speed edged closer, and Horatio put the letter flat on his desk where they both could read it. "I don't get it. What happens in the last act of Hamlet?"

Horatio's throat was suddenly dry, and he took a sip of his coffee before reluctantly answering. "Basically, everybody dies."

Speed cringed. "You think he's going to go after everyone in Narcotics, one at a time?"

"I'm afraid he's at least planning it." Horatio's hand suddenly clenched on his mug. "Plans can fail, and I intend to make sure his do. Get that down to Trace right away, Speed. Run fingerprints, too. He may get careless once, and we're not going to."

"Right." Speed snapped on his own gloves and picked up the letter and envelope, starting for the door of the office.

Horatio swiveled his chair to face his computer and hit a button to wake it up. The screensaver faded into the prompt to log on, and he typed his name, then hesitated. "Except Horatio," he said very softly. "Horatio has to stand there helplessly and watch while everyone else dies around him."

Speed, halfway out the door, turned back. "What's that, H?"

"I was just thinking out loud. You know, that Hamlet reference is pretty culturally advanced for someone sent to prison on drug charges."

Speed nodded. "Probably Shakespeare's not on the top 10 list of books read in meth houses."

"Exactly. I'm going to dig into the background a bit more on these 32 people released from prison, see if any of them have ever had any recorded connection at all with the theater."

Speed was impressed. "Good thinking. We'll get him, H. Every note helps." He walked the other half of the way out the door and headed down the stairs.

Horatio stared at his computer, where the cursor still blinked politely, waiting for his password. He entered it. "Your notes," he said out loud to the perp, "are helping us find you. Did you hear that? They will, too. This game will end, and you will lose." But would Steve lose as well? How many more would have to follow? Reconnecting his mind to his fingers, he started the search.