The Caine Mutiny

by Deb3

19th in the Fearful Symmetry series. Officers are being abducted and tortured to death while the killer taunts the police daily. How far will Horatio go to solve this case?

5. Caine Mutiny 5

Chapter 5 of the Caine Mutiny. Bonus chapter in honor of a rainy day that prevents outside work. This is it until the end of the week. Deb

(H/C)

"Each substance of a grief hath twenty shadows."

William Shakespeare, King Richard the Second

(H/C)

The pallbearers approached with measured, solemn steps as the bagpipes played Amazing Grace, the flag-draped coffin the only color in a sea of black suits. Horatio stood next to Calleigh, eyes riveted to the coffin. A man he had called friend lay there because help had come 30 minutes too late. Calleigh shivered slightly as the wind moaned, and he automatically put an arm around her, squeezing her warmly into his side. She caught his hand where it came around her shoulder and traced the fingers with tender support, giving him her strength, telling him silently that it wasn't his fault, that it couldn't have been prevented. He heard but he did not believe.

The procession stopped in front of the seated family, the wife and two daughters. They had been crying up until this point, but tears suddenly stopped along with the funeral march. The pallbearers stood motionless, their burden suspended. Even the wind stilled its lament, and the only movement, the only sound was the rustle of hundreds of collars and suits as every head turned to look squarely at Horatio. Family, pallbearers, officers come to honor the dead. Everyone faced him in unison with accusing eyes – everyone except Calleigh. The funeral had been disrupted, the process halted, and somehow, it was his fault. He had failed in his responsibility. Horatio looked around for the undone task and suddenly realized that there was no grave. Instead, in the middle of the rectangle of unpeopled ground lay a waiting shovel.

He understood. Giving Calleigh an apologetic squeeze, he released her and stepped forward, picking up the shovel. All eyes tracked him silently. Horatio thrust the metal blade into the earth, and it bit cleanly, easily into the ground. He started to dig. He made faster progress than he had feared he would, but he was still keeping them all waiting. The patient pallbearers never put the casket down. Looking up from a rapidly enlarging hole, Horatio suddenly noticed that the end of the casket had a clock face on it, with a second hand that seemed to be sweeping around its circuit in double time. An instant later came the realization that this wasn't the second hand but the minute hand. The minutes were flying, with the hours chasing them frantically. Horatio doubled his efforts as time spiraled out of control and everyone waited for him to finish his task.

Suddenly, the blade of the shovel hit something harder than the loosely-packed earth. There was a coffin here already. He would have to move Steve's grave, but no, there were tombstones to each side. It had to be here, and he was keeping them waiting. He would have to move this coffin, push it to the side so they could finish the funeral, then rebury this poor soul in some unoccupied corner later after everyone had left. He hoisted the coffin, throwing all his effort behind it. He barely had the strength to lift it out of the grave, but no one came to help. The watchers were all attentive but silent, condemning him for the delay. His eyes frantically sought Calleigh, but she had left. Horatio finally heaved the coffin over the edge of the grave and for the first time noticed the brass nameplate on the side. Al Humphries. He shivered and mentally promised his friend peaceful rest again, just as soon as Horatio could manage it.

He turned back to the grave, but he hadn't progressed more than a few inches before he encountered another coffin. With growing dread, he lifted that one out, too, tracing the name on the side. Raymond Caine. Ray's coffin banged into Al's with a reverberating clank that echoed through the unnatural silence. The watchers did not react, just continued to wait, but their eyes never left him. Horatio resumed his task and quickly hit another coffin. He knew somehow, even before he lifted it far enough to read the name. Rosalind Caine. His mother. Next would be his father, and after that would come the victims, the countless ones he had only been able to avenge, not save. With weary resignation, he started digging again, finding the next coffin blocking the way. He bent to pick it up, and this time, the lid opened suddenly, and a fleshless hand reached out toward him, capturing him by the shoulder with skeletal claws, pulling him down.

(H/C)

Calleigh stood by the bed watching him for a few minutes, needing to wake him yet hating to. Horatio was asleep, an uneasy sleep, but it was at least sleep. Even this much had been hard to come by in the days since they had found the body. Horatio had been possessed with finding the killer, processing the evidence, gleaning all they could from the swamp, the ropes, and the body. Unfortunately, all they could glean wasn't adding up fast enough to suit him. The letters had continued, each a taunting reminder of Steve's death. The cast and crew of Hamlet checked out with nothing more than traffic violations. Calleigh understood the fierce drive to close the case – it was shared by every officer on the force. A strike at the police community was a strike at all of them. Even in the intensity of the case, though, Horatio was supportive of his team, and his concern and consideration for all of them made the increased work load a bit easier. Nothing would be all right again until this case was solved, but they were still a team, working it together.

It was the other signs that worried Calleigh more. Signs like how he had started timing himself at work, timing his rare breaks to the second, timing his meals, not compromising thoroughness on the job but trying to sacrifice as few seconds as possible away from the investigation. Signs like yesterday, when he was in the break room pouring a cup of coffee and the radio playing carols launched into "I'll Be Home for Christmas." Horatio hadn't just turned it off. He had jerked the plug out of the wall with such a vicious yank that his elbow slammed back into the radio, knocking it off the counter, and it hit the floor four feet away in a multi-stage clatter. The echo of the crash died along with every voice, leaving one piece rolling across the floor the only remaining sound in the stunned room. He had stared at the broken machine for a moment, looking startled himself. Calleigh hadn't been there, but Eric had, and he told her later how Horatio had studied the floor for several seconds, then calmly, courteously pulled out his wallet and walked over to Valera, whose radio it had been, handed her several bills and a one-word but sincere apology, then walked out of the room.

And those were just the days. They paled next to the nights.

Horatio shifted again, suddenly more restless, his fingers clutching at the covers. His head turned, and he muttered some weak, futile protest. Calleigh sighed and reached forward to grip his shoulder, shaking him gently. "Horatio."

He came bolt upright on the bed so quickly that it startled her, and both hands convulsively, painfully clutched the arm that held him as his wild eyes roamed the room and finally came to rest on her face. He gave a shuddering sigh and relaxed, his fingers releasing the painful grip but still holding her. Both of them started to breathe again. "Sorry, Cal. Did I hurt you?"

"No," she said, though she was pretty sure she would have bruises on her arm the next day. "You okay?"

"Fine," he replied. It was the same answer he had given, in the same tone, for days to everyone who asked him that question. His eyes went to the window, gauging the light, and he frowned slightly. "What time is it?"

"7:45."

That brought his feet over the side of the bed, landing with a determined thump on the floor. "We'll be late to CSI. What happened to the alarm clock? That's two hours lost."

"It doesn't matter, Horatio. The funeral is at 10:00 this morning, and there's no point in going to CSI before that. We wouldn't have time to do much."

"You turned off the clock."

"You've got plenty of time. I've got breakfast ready now, and then you can take a shower and get ready while I take Rosalind to daycare."

He was scrambling into clothes as she spoke. "Where is she?"

"In the living room, watching the birds. Come on, Horatio, let's eat."

They headed together down the hall to the living room, where Rosalind in her high chair was parked in front of the huge sliding glass doors, watching the morning ballet outside. She never got tired of it. She looked around cheerfully as they entered the room. "Dada!"

He scooped her out of the chair, hugging her. "Good morning, Angel."

Rosalind hugged him back, then pointed, making sure she had his attention. "Birds."

"I see them. Sea gulls, actually. Can you say that?"

She tilted her head as she considered, then dismissed it. "Birds." Horatio laughed, and Calleigh, putting plates on the table, wondered if there was any way for him to conduct this investigation with Rosalind accompanying him 24/7. Rosalind certainly wouldn't mind, and Horatio might save himself an ulcer that way. Of course, he probably couldn't work as efficiently with her attached. Analysis of the evidence really required both hands. Calleigh shook her head sadly, discarding the idea.

"Put her back in her chair, Horatio. Let's eat."

He put Rosalind back in her high chair, faking it two times and pulling her back out at the last moment before he actually let go. She extended her arms toward him with a wide smile. "More!"

"Not right now," Calleigh said firmly, inserting herself between them. "Breakfast is ready." She pulled the high chair over beside her own place and sat down, fishing up a bite for Rosalind from her bowl with one hand while getting one for herself from the plate with the other. Her hands knew the routine, and her eyes left them to it and followed Horatio. He dropped into the chair across the table, picked up his fork, and then automatically looked at his watch, marking the exact time, and started eating twice as fast as he would have a few days ago. Breakfast was concluded in silence.

(H/C)

The pallbearers approached with measured, solemn steps as the bagpipes played Amazing Grace, the flag-draped coffin the only color in a sea of black suits. Calleigh shivered slightly as the wind moaned, and Horatio automatically put an arm around her, squeezing her warmly into his side. She caught his hand where it came around her shoulder and traced the fingers with tender support, giving him her strength, telling him silently that it wasn't his fault, that it couldn't have been prevented. He heard but he did not believe. She took her eyes off the family long enough to look up at him and was surprised to find him neither looking at the casket nor the family. He was staring at the waiting grave. The pale, strained, tight lines of his face frightened her, and she squeezed his hand, trying to break through his courteous wall and support him in whatever he was seeing there. His eyes flickered to hers briefly, answering the silent question in the same way he had answered all the spoken ones. He was fine. He looked toward the family, visibly shaking off his own thoughts and feelings to focus on them.

The coffin stopped, and the bagpipes stilled. The minister opened the Bible and looked at the family with gentle compassion. "The apostle Paul, knowing that he was about to be executed, wrote a farewell to his young friend Timothy, saying 'I have fought the good fight, I have finished my course, I have kept the faith. Henceforth, there is laid up for me a crown of righteousness.' Our dear friend Steve Parker fought the good fight every day in the streets of Miami to make the city a better place. He succeeded, serving with honor and diligence. No one can tell how many lives were saved through his efforts. Great is his reward in heaven. By his city, by his church, by his friends, and especially by his family, he will be missed." He closed the Bible and stepped forward, speaking privately to the family, too low for anyone else to hear. He took the widow's hand gently, and she nodded to him and replied. As he stepped back, her gaze fell to her wedding band, and the fingers of her other hand caressed it sadly, fondly.

The flag was removed, folded with reverent precision, and presented to her. She hugged it tightly, her tear-streaked face fixed on the casket, as the shots rang out across the cemetery, seven riflemen firing three times, the traditional military salute to the dead. Everyone paused then, waiting. The family would decide when they were ready to leave. After a few minutes, the widow stood up, and the tears suddenly came crashing through the dam as she laid her cheek against the coffin. Her daughters on either side, crying themselves, clung to her. The hundreds of onlookers stood motionless, allowing the family the semblance of privacy for this final goodbye. At last, the widow straightened up. She kissed her hand and laid it on top of the coffin, and her lips moved silently, addressing the three familiar words physically to him for the last time. Flanked by her daughters, she turned away, starting for the waiting black limousine, forcing herself not to look back.

The crowd began to disperse, some of them going to the casket themselves, some to their own cars, some following the family. Horatio was still a handsome statue, his eyes fixed on the casket, but he did not go to it. Calleigh gave him a minute, then reached up and touched his face lightly. He had been staring at the end of the casket, not the length of it, and now he looked down at her as if surprised that she hadn't left without him. "Let's go, Horatio. Do you want to talk to Susan?"

"I need to," he replied. He gave one last look at the casket as they started to walk away, but there was no clock face there. He hadn't really expected one. For Steve Parker, clocks no longer had meaning, because help had come for him 30 minutes too late.

(H/C)

The annual Christmas party for the Miami-Dade PD was noticeably subdued. They had considered not having it at all, but Susan Parker had insisted, though she didn't attend herself. She had met her husband there when he was a rookie on the force and she had come as another man's date. Since then, it had been a highlight of each year for them, and she wouldn't hear of canceling it, asking instead that they hold it in his memory. No one could refuse that request. So the party went on with the usual conversation, catching up with spouses and children, one of the few times each year that the entire extended MDPD family came together. Everyone was quieter than usual, though, and in the middle of conversation, voices would suddenly trail off and eyes would track to the black-draped portrait set up at the end of the room.

Horatio hadn't wanted to come at all. By his compulsive figuring, the party was a minimum of three hours away from the investigation. In the four days since Steve's funeral, they had made scant progress, but he knew the answer was there somewhere. He just hadn't looked hard enough yet. Calleigh returned to CSI after picking up Rosalind from daycare to find him, as expected, still at his desk, and only the reminder of Susan's specific request was enough to pry him away from the case and downtown to the reserved banquet room at the hotel. He was more subdued than most people there, even, but he was present.

Calleigh slipped away from him at one point to refill their punch glasses and encountered Alexx beside the table, watching Horatio with concern. "He isn't dealing with this well at all," the ME stated as Calleigh refilled their glasses with the dipper.

"Tell me about it. I'm really worried about him, Alexx, but anytime I try to talk to him, he just says that . . ."

"He's fine," Alexx completed for her. "He's given me the same line. Is he sleeping at all?"

"Not well. He won't tell me what he dreams about, but he doesn't even want to go to sleep anymore. He fights it off as long as he can. At least he's still eating a little, but he times himself on it. That 30 minutes just haunts him, Alexx."

"He couldn't have done any more than he did," Alexx said.

"I know, but he keeps trying to recapture it. I don't know what to do except just be there for him."

"What he really needs," Alexx said, "is to solve this case."

"I wish we could. It isn't going anywhere fast, though. We haven't found that big break yet." Calleigh stared across the crowded room, watching her husband worriedly. He was talking to an old friend of both his and Raymond's, Bill Weaver, and the topic was clearly the golden-haired child who was attached to his hip. Bill reached out to run one hand through her silky hair, and Rosalind eyed him with cool interest. Horatio stroked her hair himself, the pride slicing momentarily through the shadow over him like a ray of sunlight peeping through clouds. "Thank God for Rosalind," Calleigh said.

"She still reaches him. I really think you still reach him yourself, honey. He'll talk to you eventually if you just stay open. You've got him spoiled, you know. He doesn't want to go through things alone anymore." Alexx studied Rosalind. "Look at that girl. I swear, she knows something's wrong with him." Rosalind hadn't unlatched herself from Horatio all evening. She was an incurable people watcher normally, and the world always held her interest. With strangers, she was reserved, though not shy, watching people from a polite distance. Tonight, though, her eyes were on her father more than the others, even in this fascinating crowd.

Calleigh nodded. "He's trying not to be any different with her, but she senses it. She's so much like him it's uncanny, Alexx." She suddenly remembered the drinks. "I'd better get back over there." She started to walk away, then hesitated. "One question, Alexx. What would you do with him, if you were me?"

Alexx gave her a warm smile. "Exactly what you're doing. Keep being there for him, and don't let him forget it. He will talk to you eventually." Her eyes returned to Horatio's face, and the smile died in concern. "I hope we solve this case quickly, though. And not just for Susan."

"Me, too," Calleigh agreed. For her, this investigation was definitely as much for Horatio as for Susan or Steve at this point. She wondered briefly as she crossed the room whether that was wrong of her, and then she decided that she didn't care.

(H/C)

Rosalind had managed to stay awake through the party with progressive effort, but she was sound asleep in her car seat before they had driven a block. When they got home, Calleigh carried her sleeping daughter up the sidewalk as Horatio, carrying her purse and the diaper bag, unlocked the door. She went straight back to the nursery, and Rosalind never stirred as Calleigh put her in her sleeper, then tucked her into the crib, pulling the blanket up snugly. Calleigh kissed her lightly on the forehead, then switched out the light as she left the room.

Horatio was standing motionless in the living room, staring out the glass doors toward the beach, though there was nothing to see at this hour. Calleigh came up behind him, wrapping both arms around him and pulling him tightly against her. "It wasn't your fault," she reiterated. She had lost count of the times she and others had told him that in the last week, but the words always bounced off his shell and fell powerless to the floor, never reaching inside him.

He pulled away from her and started a restless circuit of the large room. "Just 30 minutes, Cal. That search took days. There had to be 30 minutes there somewhere."

Calleigh forced herself to stand still and wait for him to return to her. At least he was talking this time instead of evading. He usually just replied, "I know," in a tone that proclaimed he knew nothing of the kind. "Horatio, has it occurred to you that Steve crossed the point of no return well before his death? If we'd gotten there 35 minutes earlier, the only difference would have been that we would have seen him die."

His pacing stalled in thought. "Actually, I hadn't thought of that. You're right." Calleigh gave a sigh of relief, and it died halfway as he continued. "We needed to cut off a lot more than 30 minutes. Couple of hours, at least." The circular pacing resumed.

"Do you remember Chris Harwood?"

"Of course. Our sniper. What does he have to do with this?"

"Speed told me once something you said on that investigation. He was wondering how long it would take to catch that guy, and you said that you didn't know, but if he could make us change the way we worked, it would take longer. We can't get too hurried on this job, Horatio."

He stopped in front of her. "I know that, Calleigh. Of course we can't rush the work. We'd miss too many things. But there were minutes here and there that weren't spent with the evidence. They would have added up."

"Horatio, you aren't a machine; you can't run at 100 for days with no break. You would have worked a lot less efficiently if you hadn't given yourself a little time here and there. Working into collapse and having to go to the hospital wouldn't help anything. We would have been a lot later than 30 minutes that way." She reached out slowly enough that he could still retreat if he wasn't ready to be held, but he stood, and she gripped both of his arms. "Look at it this way. You're focusing just on what you did, but what about us? What about the team? Do you think we all should have eaten twice as fast and taken half the breaks? We all could have slept only four hours a night, or even two. Maybe it was our fault for slacking off. Think how many investigations we'd close faster if we just never stopped working."

"No, that's ridiculous," he protested, then realized a second later that he was trapped.

"Exactly. And it's ridiculous for you to punish yourself. You did your best. We all did, Horatio. The fact that he died is due to the criminals, not us."

His thoughts switched to the criminals. "I will get them, Cal," he vowed, a dangerous edge in his tone, like light running along the barrel of a gun. "Miami isn't large enough to hide them from CSI."

"I believe you. But trying to eat in three minutes per meal won't help you get there. Okay?"

He considered it, logic wrestling with guilt. Calleigh closed the remaining distance between them and pulled him tightly against her, hugging him fiercely. He slowly responded, his own arms tightening, and they simply held each other for countless minutes. "I'm sorry, Cal," he said finally. "I know it's been hard on you, too."

She hit him without ending the hug, smacking him sharply on the back. "Shut up, Horatio. You've been nothing but supportive to the whole team the last few days. It's just yourself you beat up on."

"I broke Valera's radio."

"That doesn't count. It's not a person."

He pulled her even closer, burying his face in her hair. "I just wish we could have saved him, Calleigh."

"So do I. We couldn't this time." She ran her hands in soothing circles over his back, feeling the knotted muscles. She pushed away from him suddenly. "Here, lie down on the couch. These poor shoulders of yours are going to break if they don't relax soon." He hesitated, and she took his hand and dragged him over. "Lie down, Horatio," she insisted. He opened his mouth to protest, then shut it without speaking and lay down obediently on the couch on his stomach. Calleigh sat on the edge and started meticulously, gently untying the knots. It seemed to take forever, and her own hands were cramping up by the end of it. "That better?"

"Mmm hmm," he replied distantly.

Calleigh ran her hands over his back, no longer massaging, just stroking him soothingly. Finally, she sat down on the end of the couch. "Roll over on your back, Horatio." As he obeyed, she picked up his head and placed it in her lap, smoothing the sleek hair away from his face.

"We can't stay here," he protested, half opening his eyes.

"Why not? It's our house."

He tried to sit up, and she wouldn't let him. "You need to get to bed," he stated. "This day's gone on long enough, and you've been working hard yourself."

"Not just yet, Horatio. I'm not that tired yet. Let's just stay here for a bit." Actually, she realized that he would still recoil from the idea of going to sleep. If they went to bed now, the nightmares would be a self-fulfilling prophecy, but if she could coax him into sleep here on the couch, where it wasn't official, maybe they could manage to sneak past the waiting dreams and grant him some much-needed rest. She massaged his temples, carefully rubbing in circles, trying to erase the stress lines, gently tracing the long, faded scar on the right. He let out a soft sigh and closed his eyes again.

"We'll only stay here for a little while, though. You need to get some rest."

"I will," she promised. He relaxed then, and gradually, under her touch, he fell sound asleep for the first time in days. Calleigh sat there memorizing his face again, tracing every line with the feather-light touch of her fingers. Deep, even, untroubled breaths. That was what he ought to be counting if he really wanted to work more efficiently. One. Two. She started counting them herself, her own eyes slowly drifting shut with the hypnotic recitation.

She had just reached 100 when a sharp knock sounded on the door, and Calleigh jumped, startled back from the very edge of sleep. She thought longingly of her gun, but she didn't have it within reach. One shot, and whoever was outside at this hour would leave them alone. Of course, a shot would certainly wake Horatio up. Calleigh edged out from under him, guiding his head carefully to the cushions. The knock came again, insistent. Horatio shifted slightly but did not wake up. Calleigh hit her feet and raced on tip toe across to the door, opening it and staring at . . . her mother.

"Calleigh! So nice to see you again. Where's Horatio? And what about that granddaughter of mine. Oh, I just can't wait to see her!" She bustled in accompanied by a clatter of luggage.

Calleigh urgently held up one finger to her lips. "Shhhh. Quiet, Mother," she whispered.

"Rosalind's already asleep, is she? Well, it doesn't matter. Sometimes, you have to wake them up; you can't always be tiptoeing around, Calleigh. I'm certainly not waiting until morning to see my granddaughter. She can get back to sleep easily enough. Let's see, almost 10 months old now, right?"

Calleigh switched weapons mentally from a gun to a gag. No, she switched back to the gun as Horatio sat up on the couch and stared at them blankly. Her mother caught the movement.

"Oh, there you are, Horatio. How's my favorite son-in-law?" Her hug was more like an assault, dragging him off the couch, taking him captive. Horatio, who was her only son-in-law, regained his courtesy a lot faster than Calleigh did.

"Jean, nice to see you. We didn't expect you for another week, though. Did we write the date down wrong?"

"No, no, I just decided I'd come early to surprise you."

"It worked," Calleigh muttered.

Jean released Horatio finally. "Get the rest of my luggage in, will you, Horatio? Now, the nursery is down here, right? Rosalind! Where's my little girl?" She bustled down the hall.

Horatio and Calleigh looked at each other. "Wake me up, Cal," Horatio asked hopefully.

"Sorry, you're already awake."

"I was afraid of that."

Jean's voice floated back down the hall. "Rosalind! There's my itsy-bitsy baby-wabe. Come to Memaw! Merry Christmas, everybody! Isn't it so nice for the family to all be together?"

Rosalind began to cry, and Calleigh and Horatio considered it. Resigned, they started down the hall to rescue their daughter. Behind them in the living room, the clock struck midnight.