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?

7. Caine Mutiny 7

Here's chapter 7 of the Caine Mutiny. My information on Post Office collection hours comes from a friend who works in another large city at the P.O. He thought it was standard, but it is possible that it doesn't precisely match Miami. I'm also not an expert on orchids, although the case Speed mentions is a real one I read about. I guarantee, however, that I will never write into a story a teenage athlete who has had a total knee replacement, which puts me ahead of Jerry and TPTB. Deb

(H/C)

"A slow sort of country!" said the Queen. "Now, here, you see, it takes all the running you can do to keep in the same place. If you want to get somewhere else, you must run at least twice as fast as that."

Lewis Carroll, Through the Looking Glass

(H/C)

Bill and Monica Weaver's house was smallish but comfortable. It was a happy house, normally at least, but at the moment, it seemed as much in shock as Monica did. Privacy and contentment had been shattered. The rude swirl of police lights as another squad car pulled up overpowered the white string of Christmas lights along the eaves.

Wedged into the small living room were Captain Martin, Tripp, Horatio, two other officers, Monica Weaver, and a veterinarian. Horatio knelt next to Argo. The large German Shepherd had been heavily sedated, and he was oblivious to the touch as Horatio carefully combed his fur, looking for any indication of where the dog had been.

"Is he going to be okay?" Monica asked anxiously. She wanted to ask that question about Bill, but she wouldn't do that to them. She knew they couldn't possibly answer.

"It's a flesh wound," the vet replied. "He's going to be pretty sore for a week or two, but he should be all right. He's been hit on the head with something, too. He's got some swelling on the left side."

"He did his best to protect Bill," Horatio stated. "I'm going to need that bullet. Can you get it here, or do you need to take him back to the clinic?"

The vet looked up at Monica. "I can remove it here under local. It isn't that deep. It might be better if I took him back with me, though. He'll need dressing changes and such, and you'll be busy with other things during the investigation."

"No," Monica objected. "I'll take care of him." The dog was a tangible link to her husband. Taking care of him would at least give her a useful channel for her anxiety for Bill.

The vet injected more local anesthetic around the bullet wound in Argo's shoulder and picked up an instrument from his bag. Horatio moved to the dog's head and opened his mouth, carefully shining a flashlight around his quite-efficient-looking teeth. "He bit somebody. We've got the killer's DNA, unless Argo happened to pick it up on the job yesterday."

"Not as likely for a narc dog," the captain stated. "Tripp, have somebody check Bill's log from yesterday. See if he reported a fight at any time." Tripp pulled out his cell phone. They had already checked the time Bill left but not a summary of his day. Horatio pulled floss out of his field kit and carefully captured the flesh between Argo's teeth, packaging it and labeling it for CSI.

The vet held out the bullet triumphantly. "Got it."

Horatio took the forceps and carefully studied it before dropping it in an evidence envelope. "9 mil."

"Maybe the gun is in the database," one of the officers suggested. Nobody looked very hopeful.

Tripp pocketed his cell phone. "No fights yesterday. Normal day from Bill's log. Just routine drug searches."

Horatio picked up a paw and studied the pad carefully. "When Bill was attacked, Argo must have been shot and then knocked out defending him, so he couldn't follow immediately. The only reason for him to come home is if he totally lost Bill's trail."

"He was hurt," the captain reminded him.

Monica shook her head. "He'd go after Bill, if he could."

"So the killer took Bill off in a car with all vents and such closed," Horatio said. "There wasn't enough scent trail for Argo to track. We've got to find the main scene."

"Too bad the dog can't talk," one of the officers said.

Horatio picked up another paw. "Maybe he can." This one had a trace of something yellow across the pad. "That looks like fresh paint." Everybody crowded in for a closer look. Horatio took a sample. "Maybe we can find where roads were being striped last night. It looks like that shade of yellow, and they paint them at night on the main streets sometimes to cut down on traffic interference. Of course, that's not necessarily the crime scene. Could just be along the route between there and here."

"Got to start somewhere," Tripp noted.

"The best thing we've got is the DNA. No getting around that." Horatio stood up. "I'll take this back to CSI. We can also run searches on cases involving both Steve and Bill. Unfortunately, since Steve was a detective and Bill is in K9, they would both appear on a lot of cases." He refused to assign past tense to Bill yet.

Tripp nodded. "I'll cover the route between here and the police complex. Might find the paint myself. Or the car."

"We've got an APB out on Bill's car," the captain put in.

"Also Explorers with new tires," Horatio suggested. "We think the killer used an Explorer to transport Steve. The tracks are so similar in wear, Calleigh estimates from Sampson's information that the killer's Explorer also had tires replaced within the last month. She was calling tire shops yesterday but nothing yet." He sighed. "Of course, that's guessing that the mileage is similar. Sampson drove his regularly."

The captain nodded. "Good thinking. I'll ask all traffic officers to watch for Explorers with new tires and pull them over for a license and insurance check. Let's go."

The crowd started to trickle out of the house, except for the vet, who was still bandaging Argo's shoulder. Horatio paused at the door to turn back to Monica. "I'll . . ." he started, then broke off. He had done his best on Steve's case, or thought he had, and he had still failed his friend. She deserved more reassurance than an empty promise.

Unshed tears glistened in her eyes. She touched him lightly on the arm, the role of comforter oddly reversed. "I know you will, Horatio. Bill knows it, too."

He picked up her hand and squeezed it, promising her what he was certain he could fulfill. "I'll keep you posted."

(H/C)

The Hummer's headlights sliced through the darkness, bobbing with the rough road. Horatio stopped just at the bay and got out. There was nothing but silence and inky blackness. He hadn't expected anything else. They already knew, from both the dirt on Steve's clothes and Sampson's evidence, that Steve had been held elsewhere and moved here at the very end. Horatio walked over to the tree, finding it unerringly in the dark. Nothing. He leaned his forehead against it briefly. This spot was where time had run out for Steve. The whole cycle was starting again; he could feel it. Another friend, another several days of searching, another failure. "No," he vowed to the tree. "This time it will be different." He looked at his watch and illuminated the dial. He'd wasted two minutes and eight seconds out of the vehicle. Well, not wasted. Making sure Bill wasn't here was reasonable. Now, though, he was wasting precious time. He hurried back to the Hummer.

A rustle sounded behind him, and Horatio spun, drawing his gun in one smooth motion. He peered into the darkness, then pulled out his flashlight with his other hand. The circle of light drew two answering gleams from the brush. A large gator crept into the road. Horatio put his gun away. "Move, or I'll move you," he told it as he got into the Hummer. He had better things to worry about today than wildlife regulations. The Hummer's lights sprang to life, and the startled gator hurried across the rest of the road and dropped into the bay with a splash as Horatio drove on, heading for CSI.

(H/C)

Entering CSI, Calleigh found Horatio at a table in the lab. Papers and evidence were spread out before him, and he was studying them with a thoughtful frown between his eyes, so intent that he didn't notice her at first. All the better. She crept up behind him and seized him, dragging him up from the chair and spinning him to face her in one easy motion. He responded to her kiss for just a second before the case and their present location surged back to the front of his thoughts. One second was enough. Calleigh stepped back with a satisfied smirk, her hand dropping into the pocket of her lab coat, and Horatio stared at his blank wrist. A Miami pickpocket couldn't have lifted his watch more deftly. "Calleigh!" The annoyance she could deal with. It was the edge of desperation beneath it that broke her heart.

She held out her other hand with the sack. "Breakfast. I'll give you the watch back when you finish eating."

"I haven't got time for breakfast." He twisted, trying to spot a clock somewhere. Calleigh set the sack on the table and firmly pushed him back down into his chair.

"Horatio, you can't work all day without breakfast, at least not efficiently. Most important meal of the day. All the commercials say so." He eyed her, measuring her resolve, then opened the sack. He automatically glanced at his wrist again before he took his first bite, and Calleigh sighed privately behind her light front.

"I'd better bring you up to speed on the case," he said.

"Not while you're eating. Give yourself a few minutes. You've been working since 1:30 this morning." He glanced at his wrist again. "It's the same time it was last time you looked, Horatio – two hairs past a freckle. Guess what Rosalind said this morning."

He half smiled, saluting her tactics. "What?"

"Christmas. She didn't have all of it quite right, but the meaning got across. Trouble is, I think she thinks it's the name of the tree. She did ask where you were." Calleigh launched into a thorough, even protracted account of Rosalind's morning, and Horatio finished eating. He crumpled the sack, threw it away, and then held out his hand firmly, ready for argument. Calleigh meekly gave him the watch back. She had distracted him for 10 minutes, and that was more of a break than he would have given himself. "Okay, Horatio. Tell me about Bill."

He ran through what they had so far, giving her the envelope with the bullet. She pulled it out to study it, too eager to wait for the microscope. "Standard 9 mil. He was probably just trying to put the dog out of commission, though. I doubt he shot Bill."

Horatio nodded. "Shooting is too quick. He'd want to spin it out. Considering what he did to Steve, the torture is the main point of his revenge." A ghostly echo of remembered pain shot through his leg, and once again, he was back briefly in the warehouse last February. Calleigh was there ahead of him, and their eyes met in mutual memory.

Eric entered the room, snapping them back to the present. "I called all the hospitals and urgent care clinics, H. Nobody's turned up with a dog bite, and if somebody does, they'll call us."

"Good. Speed's working on the DNA." Horatio held out a paper. "The paint on Argo's foot exactly matches the kind used for street stripes. I had just finished looking this up. These are the locations where street workers were last night, and only two of them are anywhere close to between the police buildings and Bill's house. I want you to check those sections of road. There should be a paw print for a step or two after Argo hit the paint. Find that and work backwards, see if we can get the abduction scene."

"You got it, H." Eric took the list of streets and headed off, ducking back at the door to allow the Narcotics secretary to enter before he exited.

Horatio sighed and snapped on gloves, taking the envelope. Calleigh handed her an evidence envelope to sign. Horatio came to alert attention, perfectly still as his eyes bored into the envelope in his hands. "Somebody stepped on this."

Calleigh pushed in next to him to see. Sure enough, there was the edge of shoe tread faintly visible on one corner of the outer envelope.

"Not me," the secretary said. "Can't vouch for the Post Office, but I never dropped it."

"Let's hope the killer did," Horatio replied. "Thank you." She left, and Horatio and Calleigh together studied the envelope. "He mailed this one, too."

"Hasn't he been mailing all of them lately?"

"He took Bill after 9:00 last night. Last mail collection at the Post Office for postmark that day is 8:00. I thought he might try to write a special message after he had Bill put wherever he took him and slip that one into ID mail again. Either this is just another generic message, or he's getting cocky."

"One way to find out," Calleigh remarked.

He slit the envelope and withdrew the message. 'And then there were none.'

"That's a book, isn't it?" Calleigh asked.

Horatio nodded. "Bestseller by Agatha Christie. It's about a group of people trapped on an island with a killer among them, and they all die one by one. The countdown is the main plot device of the book." He stared at the note. "I've never read it, but Ray loved it. Agatha Christie was one of his favorite authors. I actually remember him and Bill discussing that book once." He shivered slightly, hearing the conversation again in his mind. Ray was dead, and Bill was missing. Only the memory remained.

Calleigh saw his eyes go distant and followed the thought. She reached out to put a hand on his arm. "Horatio," she started.

He jumped at her touch and pulled away, looking at his watch. "I'm wasting time. I've had this for three minutes and six seconds, and I haven't even given it to Speed yet." He surged to his feet. "Let me know what you find on that bullet, Cal." He was out the door, heading for Trace, before she could reply. With a sigh, she headed for Ballistics. At least she could do something for him there that he would accept.

(H/C)

Calleigh found Horatio in his office an hour later, running computer searches again, looking for cases that both Steve and Bill had worked in some way. As he had feared, the list was extensive. The DNA from Argo's teeth wasn't in the system, so he could eliminate cases where the subject's DNA was recorded. That still left most of them. DNA evidence wasn't usually a part of drug cases. He looked up as she entered. "Anything?"

"No match. We haven't met this gun before." He sighed. "I'm sure we will, though," she continued.

"Eventually," he agreed. He glanced at his watch again.

Speed clattered up the stairs, looking almost excited. "H, I've got something from the shoe print. Estimated size 10 men's shoe. There was trace on the treads. Residue from phalaenopsis orchid blooms."

Horatio and Calleigh stared at each other. "Orchids?" they said simultaneously, trying to picture an ex-con who had served time on drug charges who ate Three Musketeers, read Hamlet, and raised orchids.

"Orchids," Speed confirmed. "Course, we don't know that it's the killer who stepped on it. It could have been dropped by anybody processing the mail. The thing is, I ran into a case once involving orchids. People get fanatical about them. There was actually a murder over them on that case. Somebody broke in and cut the blooms off all of a rival's orchids right before a show, and the rival killed over it."

Horatio picked up the train of thought. "So like any fanatics, they have clubs and meetings."

"Right. I called the local Miami orchid club. Took some convincing, but I got them to fax me their membership roster." He held out an impressive stack of papers. "I thought we could try correlating the names against the drug cases list. Last names, anyway. Maybe our ex-con has a wife who raises orchids."

Horatio was impressed. "Nice going, Speed." He split the stack into thirds. "Eric's still looking for the abduction scene. The three of us will take this. Search on last names only. Skim it completely first before you go to the computer. A name may come to mind from an old case."

Calleigh and Speed took their sections and headed back down into the labs. Horatio sat back in his chair and looked at his watch, marking the exact time, before he started scanning the last third of the membership list of the South Florida Orchid Society. Four minutes and nine seconds later, he turned to his computer. At five minutes and three seconds, he grabbed for the phone.

(H/C)

Connor Stapleton's estate was protected from his less-wealthy neighbors by a secure fence. An ornate set of iron gates further advertised his bank account. At the moment, the gates stood open, and the Hummer and the patrol car behind entered the grounds unchallenged. The driveway wound through the beautiful grounds to a mansion. No smaller word could adequately describe it. Even the detached garage a short distance away was as large as most people's houses.

A woman was standing in front of the mansion, consulting with a man over a shrub. As she spotted them and started toward the cars, Horatio noticed that she was wearing a sweatshirt from the South Florida Orchid Society. He climbed out of the Hummer, firmly reminding himself that they had no warrant and nothing to go on that wasn't circumstantial. He wanted to turn this whole place inside out, but he had to proceed carefully here. "Mrs. Stapleton?"

She sized him up with a sweeping, almost predatory appraisal, and her eyes approved what they saw – and let him know it. "Yes. May I help you?"

"Lieutenant Horatio Caine, Miami-Dade PD." Her interest grew another notch at the name, and Horatio wondered if she had seen Hamlet put on a month ago, and who had accompanied her. "This is my wife, Detective Calleigh Caine, and Detective Tripp." The woman didn't even look at Calleigh and only glanced briefly at Tripp before settling firmly again on Horatio. Alley cat, Calleigh thought. This woman was married, but clearly only to a bank account, not a person. Horatio honestly seemed oblivious to her subtle signals, and Calleigh found herself grinning as he continued, purely professional. "We'd like to speak to your son for a few minutes."

"He's not here at the moment. Chip hasn't been in any further trouble, has he? It was just a little misunderstanding last year. He fell in with the wrong crowd, you know. He didn't do anything himself." Actually, Chip Stapleton had only been saved from prison time by the lawyer his father paid for. "Are you sure I can't help you with something?" She batted her eyelashes at him.

Horatio glanced around the estate. "Is your husband here?" He doubted it. Connor Stapleton had been absolutely offended that anyone would dare arrest his son, and he had hated the police since. If he was anywhere around, he would already be challenging them, and his lawyer would already be on the way.

"Not at the moment. He and my brother Mitchell should be back before long." Her beautiful lip was starting to curl into a pout. This stunning redhead wasn't noticing her at all, and she wasn't used to it. "Are you sure I can't do something for you, Lieutenant?"

Horatio seized the moment. If Stapleton would be back before long, they had better get to work. "Do you mind if we have a look around, Mrs. Stapleton?"

She wouldn't mind, but her husband definitely would. Horatio was gambling that she would give them permission just to spite him. He was right. "Of course not. Feel free."

She trailed them into the house, and Horatio turned back. "Actually, we could work better alone if you don't mind. We had obviously interrupted you, anyway."

She sighed, giving up. She didn't understand this man at all. "I was just talking with Daniels, the gardener, about adding a few more flowering shrubs. I guess I could finish that. Make yourself at home, Lieutenant."

"We will," Horatio said, subtly emphasizing the first word.

"What a tramp," Calleigh stated as the door safely closed between them. Tripp gave her an understanding grin. Horatio was already exploring.

"Okay, let's divide up. Be fast but thorough. We're going to get kicked off the estate as soon as Stapleton comes back, so this is our only chance without a warrant. Tripp, why don't you go out the back door and check the outbuildings? I saw a few storage sheds as well as the garage."

"Right." Tripp disappeared toward the back of the house.

Horatio headed upstairs, and Calleigh took the ground floor. She found a large room devoted entirely to the orchids, as well as a study with a gun safe on one wall. She tried the door, but it was locked. Standing on tiptoe, she ran her hand along the top, and the key fell off. "Idiot," she muttered, bending to pick it up. "Why don't any of them ever get original?" She unlocked the safe and surveyed the collection. There were rifles, shotguns, even a .44, but there was no 9 millimeter. She relocked the safe, replaced the key, and checked the desk drawers. Another handgun, this time a 22. Giving up on the study, she pushed further into the massive house.

Upstairs, Horatio had found Chip's room. No 9 millimeter. Nothing. There was a Three Musketeers bar on the chest. He looked under the bed and then in the closet, carefully inspecting the soles of all the shoes. They were size 10, but he couldn't find a matching tread to the partial from the envelope. He heard a car outside and immediately left Chip's room, picking up speed, quickly looking in every room and every closet on the second and third floor. No gun. No matching shoes, although two other people wore size 10. No stencil. No Bill. Outside, he heard Tripp's voice raised, giving them notice, buying them time. He finished his lightning search and hurried down the stairs, meeting Calleigh at the foot.

"I found orchids, but nothing else," she reported. "He has plenty of guns, but no 9 mil."

"No gun, no matching shoes," he told her. "I can't find any sign that they're involved."

"The wife sure isn't involved, or she wouldn't have given us permission to search."

Horatio sighed. "Too much to hope for, I guess. It was totally circumstantial, anyway."

She gave him a quick squeeze. "We'll find him, Horatio."

The front door burst open, nearly hitting the wall with the knob. Connor Stapleton stalked in, furious, with Tripp, his wife, the gardener, and another man, presumably the brother, trailing him. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"We had permission to look around," Horatio said.

Stapleton glared at his wife, then filed that complaint for later and turned back to Horatio. "This is persecution, you know. You come after my son last year when he was an innocent bystander, and now I find you searching my estate. Looking for the evidence you didn't have a year ago? Can't you people do your jobs right? Total waste of the taxpayer's money, most of you. Get off my property, and you'd better not even breathe onto this estate without a warrant next time."

Calleigh felt her temper ignite, and Horatio stilled her with a touch. "We were just leaving," he stated. They walked out to the vehicles, drove out of the grounds, and stopped just outside for a conference, within annoying view of Stapleton. "Find anything, Tripp?"

Tripp shook his head. "It was hurried, but I looked in every building. No sign of Bill, no gun."

"We did find orchids," Calleigh reminded.

"Chip eats Three Musketeers bars, too," Horatio said. He gave Calleigh an apologetic look. "The reason I shut you off back there is because I didn't want Stapleton to know exactly what case we were here on."

The light dawned. "That's a good point. We never actually mentioned it to anybody."

"It gives us a better idea if they have anything on their conscience." He frowned. "Trouble is, I'm not sure Stapleton has one. His attitude wasn't what I'd expect if he had a part in this, though. There wasn't any uneasiness when he found us searching, just anger. The one I'd really like to talk to is Chip, if I could, and I didn't want him forewarned by his father about our suspicions. Let Stapleton think we were here on the old case." He looked over at Tripp. "Find any Explorers?"

"No. Three car garage, one Mercedes in it, one BMW that they drove up in."

Horatio turned back to look up the driveway toward the house. At that moment, the gates, obviously remote controlled, swung firmly shut. "It was just a guess," he said. His shoulders drooped for just a second before he straightened up and looked at his watch. "Let's head back to CSI and try to come up with a better one."

(H/C)

Horatio sat in his office running more computer searches, sifting slowly through the membership of the South Florida Orchid Society, comparing the last names to old cases. Of course, the orchids probably belonged to a postal worker's wife. Nothing. Every time he thought he had something on this case and chased it further, it disappeared. Eric had managed to find the crime scene after searching most of the day. Other than some blood from Argo and a smaller amount from Bill, more likely from a blow than a shot, there was nothing. Bill's car had disappeared, probably also stolen.

He was still convinced that the killer had seen Hamlet at the University a month ago, but if so, he must have been in the unidentified majority of the audience. Several of the letters had referred to or quoted Hamlet, but no other Shakespeare play had been used in two weeks on this case, leading him to believe that this killer wasn't a general Shakespeare fan or a theater worker and had only happened to see the one play. Hamlet was remarkable, but no true Shakespeare student could confine himself to one play. There were too many other lines that this killer would have appreciated. He had obviously never seen or read Macbeth, for instance. Horatio wished he had had time to ask Mrs. Stapleton if she had attended Hamlet.

The office door shut with a firm, determined click, and he looked up at Calleigh. She had her on-a-mission expression. "What is it, Cal?"

Calleigh had been dreading this confrontation all day. It had come anyway. "It's almost time to pick up Rosalind, Horatio."

"You'd better get going, then. It's okay; I understand."

She crossed to the desk. Standing, she was taller than he was sitting, and she used the illusion for effect. "No, you don't understand, Horatio. You're leaving, too."

He instantly looked at his watch. "I can't, Calleigh. I can't leave this one."

"You don't have any choice, Horatio. You're in no shape to keep going. You're almost ready to fall out of that chair now if you'd just let yourself notice."

His body slumped, reacting to the suggestion, but his mind stayed on top of it, oblivious. "I'm fine. Bill is out there somewhere, Calleigh, and I'm not going to let him down. Not another one."

She came around the desk and spun him in the chair to face her, gripping his arms, digging her fingers in to make him feel it. "Horatio, it wasn't your fault."

His eyes met hers squarely. They were red-rimmed, exhausted, two deep-set coals that still burned with self-directed fire. "Tell that to Susan Parker."

"She's told it to you."

"Well, what would you expect her to say?" He looked at his watch again. "We're wasting time here, Cal. Go get Rosalind and go home."

Wasting time. If that was her only weapon, she would use it. "I'll go get her, and then I'll bring her back here. She can play on your desk."

That jolted him. "I wouldn't get anything done with her here."

"You're right, you wouldn't," Calleigh agreed.

"I could order you to go home."

Her chin came up. She was still taller than he was at the moment. "Just try it, Handsome, and you'll have a mutiny on your hands." He studied her, and the ghost of a smile played around his lips. "Actually, Horatio, I'm forgetting Mother. We really have been neglecting her. I'll pick her up after I get Rosalind and bring her back with me. I'm sure she'd enjoy a tour of CSI."

He bowed his head, acknowledging defeat. "Let me finish this search," he asked softly. "I was making a list of possible matches tonight, and we can check them out in person tomorrow."

Calleigh wanted to drag him out with her now, but she suddenly realized that he wouldn't get any rest for a few hours anyway, whether he was still here at CSI or home with her mother. It would take her mother that long to start to run down after being alone all day. At least here, he might get something useful done, while Calleigh could take the edge off her mother first. "Okay, Horatio. Keep working. But if you're not home by 8:30, we're coming up here after you. All of us." He shuddered. "And don't even think of telling me you lost track of time. I won't believe you."

He nodded meekly. "I'll be home by 8:30. Thanks, Calleigh."

She bent over to kiss him briefly. "See you then."

After she left, Horatio turned back to the computer. He looked at his watch. Allowing 20 minutes to drive home, that left him with three hours and two minutes to work. For just a moment, the watch face was replaced by the spinning clock on the end of Steve's casket. Horatio firmly pushed the image away and started another search.