Chapter 9 of the Caine Mutiny. I couldn't sleep, so I got up at 2:00 to write instead of 4:30 as usual. Fair trade: I'll sleep tonight after work instead of writing as intended. Hope you enjoy it. Deb

IMPORTANT: Please remember that in the Fearful Symmetry series, Stetler does not exist. I wouldn't want to give Stetler any more air time than he deserves. In fact, I feel that way about one other character on CSIM, too, which is why you hardly ever see her in FS, either.

(H/C)

"The solving of almost every crime mystery depends on something which seems, at the first glance, to bear no relation whatever to the original crime."

Elsa Barker

(H/C)

Eric thought he arrived at CSI early the next morning, but Horatio was earlier. At least, Eric hoped Horatio was earlier and wasn't just still there. He was wearing different clothes, though. He must have gone home at some point. "Good morning, H," he said.

"Let us hope so," Horatio replied. Eric, studying him surreptitiously, was reminded of a rubber band stretched out to painful lengths. How much longer could he take this? This case was hard on everyone, but watching Horatio obsessively count the minutes in which they didn't find Bill, the whole team was acutely worried about him. They had never seen him drive himself this hard, and the possibility of him crumbling under the pressure, once unthinkable, now seemed more likely than the possibility of solving the case before it came to that.

"Find anything more on the abduction scene, Eric?" Horatio asked.

"No, but I came in early to rerun what I had. There was just a little blood from Bill, H. Most of it was from Argo."

"Oh, I'm sure Bill's still alive. Right now, anyway." Horatio suddenly came to attention, looking past Eric, and Eric turned to see Captain Martin standing in the doorway. "Has there been something new, sir?" Had the perp stepped up to two officers at a time? It was really odd for the captain to be at CSI, especially first thing in the morning.

The captain looked from one of them to the other. "No, not directly involving the case. Horatio, could I have a word with you?"

"Certainly." Horatio didn't stir a step from the evidence table. The captain glanced at Eric again. "Eric's doing a job here, and my people know everything I do on this investigation. Go ahead." Eric hesitated, wondering if he should go for a tactful cup of coffee, and Horatio shook his head. "Get to work, Eric. It's okay." Eric stepped over to the next table and spread out the scant evidence from the abduction scene. His ears were less disciplined than his eyes and stayed focused on the conversation.

"There's been a complaint filed against you," Captain Martin stated.

Horatio was startled. "Regarding what? I haven't even been close enough to anybody to offend them on this case."

"Connor Stapleton. The commissioner called me early this morning. He'd already heard extensively from Stapleton's lawyer and also his brother, as well as IAB. Stapleton's brother is a senator, you know, and Stapleton himself has more money than he can count. They're a powerful family."

Horatio looked at him squarely. "I entered through an open gate, immediately informed the family I was there, conducted a search with full permission, and as soon as he asked me to leave, I did. He has nothing to complain about."

"I know. I've been reviewing the reports from yesterday for you and Tripp. Technically, you did nothing wrong, but Stapleton isn't happy."

"I'm sure he isn't. Fortunately, making the spoiled rich happy isn't one of my goals in life." Behind them, Eric's shoulders quivered slightly, and he bit his lip to keep from laughing out loud.

"The thing is, he thinks that this is tied in with that case involving his son from a year ago. He was complaining about us searching for evidence on a case that's already been tried."

"That wasn't why I was there. We didn't have enough for a warrant, but we did have enough to want to talk to Chip. There's evidence that the killer is somehow exposed to orchids."

"From what I read, there's evidence that somebody who handled that letter is exposed to orchids. Not necessarily the killer."

"I've got to consider the possibility that it's the killer. We follow the evidence, and yesterday, it led me to Stapleton's estate."

Captain Martin sighed. "Trying to talk to Chip was justified. Searching the whole estate without stating any reason was pushing it."

"I had permission," Horatio insisted.

"I know. We're backing you up. However, I also have special orders to pass along. Unless there is direct, incontrovertible evidence linking Stapleton to this case, we are to leave Stapleton alone. You are not to question the family, and you are not to go back out there without a warrant."

Horatio's voice was icy. "If I do get direct evidence, am I still allowed to do my job?"

"Of course. Any warrant request regarding Stapleton or his family, though, is going to be looked at with a fine-toothed comb, so it had better be rock solid. I'm sorry, Horatio. Do you really think that Stapleton is involved in this?"

Horatio's eyes went back to the printouts and the letters on the table. "I don't know. I think that someone in that household might be, but I'll admit, it's circumstantial. I didn't find anything conclusive, but that was hardly a thorough search. We do at least know that the family has a grudge against Narcotics, and Mrs. Stapleton raises orchids. Furthermore, three people there wear size 10 shoes, although I didn't find a set to match the print on the letter. I didn't get a chance to inspect the shoes they had on. I also could have missed a pair; I rushed the end of the search, as did Calleigh and Tripp."

"Knowing that you were there against Stapleton's wishes and that he was about to kick you off," the captain pointed out.

"I hadn't heard him say it yet, sir," Horatio replied innocently. "I'm not a mind reader."

The captain grinned for just a second before his well-schooled features resumed their stern expression. "Remember, Chip got off with community service. That would be a pretty out-of-proportion grudge for him or his family to be involved in this."

"Rich people have out-of-proportion grudges. Also, he only got off with community service because of his father's lawyer. Otherwise, he'd still be doing time for his involvement in that meth ring. We both know he was involved well past what he was convicted for, even if his father refuses to believe it."

Captain Martin nodded. "Knowing isn't enough sometimes, Horatio. We have to prove it. On this case, I think Stapleton or his family would be more likely to take out a contract on officers than torture them to death and play with us. Rich people also hire others to do their dirty work."

"I was following the evidence, not statistics," Horatio said stubbornly.

The captain looked at the letters himself. "I want to solve this one as much as you do. I was just talking to Monica Weaver earlier. But watch your step and stay strictly within the rules on anything involving Stapleton, okay?"

Horatio turned back to his letters. "I'll just have to get more proof, then. There has to be more proof, either for someone in that family or whoever the killer is. It's here somewhere." He plunged back into reviews, redoing the analysis, forgetting that his supervisor was still there. Captain Martin stood there briefly watching him, then turned away.

"Eric," Horatio said after five minutes, "when you're done with what you're doing, run a check on all of Chip Stapleton's known acquaintances, including anybody involved in that drug ring from a year ago, and see if you can find a connection to an Explorer. Also a background check on all members of that household, including the gardener, for any priors and for an Explorer."

"You got it, H." Eric didn't mention the warning, and neither did Horatio.

(H/C)

"Miami Shakespeare Society, may I help you?"

Horatio put on his silkiest tone. "I was calling to ask for information on membership in your club. Could you mail me an application?"

"Certainly. May I have your name and address, please?" Horatio gave it to her, leaving off any title and giving his home address. "Horatio! Are you named out of Hamlet?"

"Actually, no, but my mother was named out of As You Like It."

"Let me guess, Rosalind, right? What a great character! I saw that play last spring. You know, Hamlet was just put on at the University a month ago."

"I'd heard that," Horatio replied. "Unfortunately, I missed it."

"I went two nights. Such a wonderful production. Their Horatio was superb. How did you hear about the society, Mr. Caine?"

"I overheard someone discussing Shakespeare clubs. She was one of your members, I think. Mrs. Connor Stapleton."

"Oh, yes, Alicia. She's one of our most active members. Should I tell her you called?"

"No, why don't you just let me surprise her at a meeting."

The woman giggled like a teenager, although she sounded at least 40. "Oh, that would be fun, wouldn't it?" Horatio wondered how much of her enthusiasm would still be there at 5:00 that afternoon. Probably most of it, he thought.

"Do you know if she was able to see Hamlet a month ago?"

"Yes, but not a night I was there. We did discuss the cuts they made later. Most people cut something out of the play; it's so long, you know, but people never can agree exactly what should get left out. Now, the University cut out some of the scenes referring to Fortinbras, including Hamlet meeting the soldier on the plains, but we both thought that made it surprising at the end when Fortinbras turns up. He'd been mentioned right at the beginning, then nothing more until that last scene. Now, if I was doing it, I wouldn't cut anything. Four hours isn't too long when it's Shakespeare."

The Narcotics secretary paused tentatively in the door and waved an envelope. "I appreciate your helpfulness, but I'm afraid I have to go," Horatio said. "Someone just came into my office."

"Oh, sure, I understand. Have a great day, Horatio." She even hung up the phone enthusiastically.

The secretary came into the office and handed him the letter. "Sorry, Lieutenant. Was I interrupting something?"

"Not at all. I was working on this case anyway." He put on gloves and took the envelope, and she automatically picked up an evidence envelope and signed for it.

"Are we getting any closer?" she asked tentatively.

"Every letter gets us closer," Horatio assured her, wishing he believed it. "The one yesterday had trace evidence in the shoe print. Maybe this one has something on it, too."

She stared at her hands, which were fiddling with the pen she'd picked up to sign the evidence envelope. "I knew them," she said softly. "Steve always asked how I was when he came in in the mornings, and he really meant it, too. Bill knew everybody's family, kids and all, and he even remembered the ages."

"You still know Bill," Horatio said firmly.

She put down the pen. "Right. I'm sorry, Lieutenant. I'll leave you to it."

"It's okay." Horatio gave her a strained smile. "I knew Steve, too, and I've known Bill for 30 years. We went to school together. I understand what you mean."

She returned the smile. "Thank you. I know you're doing your best. You'll find this killer."

"I won't quit until I do," Horatio vowed, all the gentleness vanishing from his tone. She nodded, totally believing him, and left the office.

Horatio studied the letter thoroughly. No footmark this time. He opened it and removed the message. 'O proud Death.' It was from the last scene of Hamlet again, the remark made by Fortinbras when he enters to find practically everybody at the court dead.

Hamlet again. The killer still hadn't used any other play. Who had accompanied Mrs. Stapleton to see Hamlet a month ago? The secretary of the Shakespeare society couldn't help him there, and he wasn't allowed to ask Mrs. Stapleton. Size 10 shoes in three rooms. Probably Chip, Stapleton himself, and Mitchell, the brother. The gardener was most likely the size 12 shoes in the separate room on the top floor. He wouldn't be on the same hall with the family. Horatio couldn't picture any of the three from his scant observations voluntarily attending Shakespeare plays, but he still thought that this perp had accidentally stumbled across Hamlet, had been somewhere out of his usual circles but already plotting revenge when he was seized by Shakespeare's incredible grasp of the human mind. Had one of them gone with Alicia Stapleton to the play? Horatio wasted three minutes and 18 seconds pondering that question before he stood up to go find Speed.

(H/C)

"No, ma'am, I'm sure they're beautiful, but we really don't need to see any more. Thank you." Horatio turned away, flanked by Tripp and Calleigh, as the woman they had been talking to looked miffed that the police hadn't wanted to inspect all of her prize-winning orchids individually. And why on earth had that redhead wondered if she'd been to see Hamlet last month?

The three climbed into the Hummer, and Horatio picked up the list from the middle console. Four names, four possible matches between the South Florida Orchid Society membership and the names of ex-cons. He scratched the last name off with such a vicious slash that his pen went through the paper. "So much for that," he said. "Waste of a morning."

"Not wasting time to rule out suspects," Tripp pointed out.

"True," Horatio conceded. He immediately looked at his watch. "We're wasting time now, though. Maybe there's something new back at CSI." He started the Hummer and pulled out into the street.

Calleigh studied her own watch and turned slightly to look at Tripp in the back seat. He checked the time himself, and their eyes met silently, then shifted to Horatio in unison, then back to each other. Tripp deferred, and Calleigh took the plunge. "Actually, Horatio, it's lunch time. If we get something now, we won't have to take time to eat once we get back to CSI."

"I'm not hungry," he said, eyes glued to the traffic.

Again, Calleigh and Tripp held a brief, silent conference. "Well, even if you aren't, I am," Calleigh said. "Aren't you getting hungry, Frank?"

"Starving," Tripp replied. "I missed breakfast."

Horatio grinned suddenly. "Don't admit that in front of Calleigh. She'll start calling you every morning and tracking you down at work for an update. She thinks I'd starve to death if she didn't remind me to eat." The grin shattered as the reference to starving to death instantly knocked him back to Steve's funeral, the already-occupied grave, and the spinning clock at the end of the waiting casket. His hands tightened up sharply, gripping a coffin, and the Hummer swerved.

"Horatio!" Calleigh grabbed the wheel, jerking the vehicle back into their lane. "Are you okay?"

Horatio took a deep breath and forced his hands to relax. The lapse had only been for a second. "Fine," he replied. Calleigh and Tripp were both staring at him intently, not looking anywhere close to convinced, and he tried to shake off their concern by compromising. "I guess we could hit a drive-through on the way back to CSI and eat while we drive. We could at least use the time at stoplights that way. What did you want for lunch, Cal? Frank?"

It took a minute to start thinking about the question. Somehow, neither Calleigh nor Tripp was hungry anymore.

(H/C)

Back at CSI, they found Eric in the break room munching a sandwich. He tried to eat faster as he saw Horatio come in, and Horatio, who had been agitated at spending eight minutes and six seconds in line at a drive-through just a while ago, said, "Take it easy, Eric. You've been working all morning; you deserve to eat your sandwich in peace." Calleigh and Tripp looked at each other in exasperation.

"Got something," Eric mumbled with his mouth full.

Horatio instantly dropped the casual air. "Find an Explorer?"

Eric shook his head as he crammed the last bite of sandwich in. "Background checks." He swallowed hard and took a few gulps of his soft drink. "There's something weird there, H. Most of the people in Chip's drug ring are still inside. He's probably got new ones. Stapleton is a hard-nosed rich jerk, but we knew that. The weird one is Mitchell."

"Mrs. Stapleton's brother?" Horatio called him up mentally. He'd been standing in the background in the door behind Stapleton. They had only seen him for a minute.

"Right. He got a traffic ticket two months ago for speeding."

"Got lots of company," Tripp commented.

"Yeah. What caught me first was that he just paid it. Stapleton, for instance, got one eight months ago. He went to traffic court with his high-powered lawyer and nearly cost the poor cop his job. Had the judge totally convinced it was unfair and that the cop went after Stapleton knowing who he was, not because he was speeding."

"That's Stapleton, all right," Calleigh said. "Mitchell's only related by marriage, though. He might not quite share the family jerk gene."

"I know, but it just looked a bit odd. Somebody from that family not even going to court on it. So I started digging on Mitchell."

"What did you find?" Horatio asked, shivering slightly at the reference to digging.

"Nothing except that one traffic ticket."

Tripp frowned. "Nothing?"

"Nothing at all. No entry in any database. He's never owned a house, never had utilities, never had a Florida driver's license until four months ago, never had a job that I could tell. Furthermore, I can't find a record that Mrs. Stapleton even has a brother. There isn't complete information on her family, but no brother is mentioned in what little there is. Lots of things aren't in the system, I know, but the average citizen has a file a hundred times longer than this."

Horatio was totally focused now, remembering Mitchell. "He doesn't match the description on any of our missing parolees. He might be the one who delivered that first letter on the video, but between the oversized jacket and the baseball cap, we hardly got anything to go on. It could fit any of the three actually, Stapleton, Chip, or Mitchell. That video is almost useless as evidence."

"Could be a third of Miami," Tripp agreed. "Hell, it could even fit Speedle."

"What?" Speed himself entered the break room.

"Nothing," Tripp said.

Speed was too intent at the moment to be very curious. He quickly turned to Horatio. "H, I got something else from the latest letter. Trace from a leaf from a Japanese maple tree. He probably stepped on a leaf, then pulled it off his shoe with his hands before he picked up the stencil. They're popular as ornamentals, but it rules out most of the population of Miami."

"But not," Horatio said, "the Stapletons. There was a Japanese maple tree in their front yard." His eyes sprang to life.

"Still circumstantial," Eric said. "My mother has a Japanese maple tree. Lots of people do."

"How many people do you suppose have both a Japanese maple tree and orchids?" Horatio pointed out. "That, I believe, would be a much smaller field. Between the orchids, the shoes, Mitchell's lack of background, the Japanese maple, the video not ruling Mitchell out, the family grudge against Narcotics, and Mrs. Stapleton seeing Hamlet, I think it's a good circumstantial case for a warrant to really search that estate." He sighed. "At least, it would be if Stapleton didn't own two banks and his brother weren't a senator. Come on, Tripp, let's go cut some red tape."

Calleigh bounded after him, catching him by the elbow. "I'll come along with you."

He smiled at her enthusiasm, but he shook his head. "Cal, they're going to challenge this one. The captain told me they would. I have to try, but it won't be a quick process, and having you with me during all of it would be wasting time for one of us. Why don't you look at the video again, and you and Eric can keep chasing Mitchell. You might turn up something that would help add to my case, and you can call me."

It made sense, but she hated letting him out of her sight at the moment. His lapse while driving earlier had convinced her that he was just about to snap. Tripp, standing behind Horatio, looked at her with a wordless pledge, and she reluctantly gave in. "Okay, but don't you dare go serve a warrant on Stapleton without me."

"If we get it, I'll call you before I go out there. Promise," he said. "Let's go, Tripp."

(H/C)

Judge Hawkins studied the notes in front of him and shook his head. "It's purely circumstantial. We're not even sure that the orchids go with the killer, and that's the most unique evidence you've got. Given Stapleton's attitude, we have to have more to go on than this."

Horatio came to his feet abruptly. "Given Stapleton's bank account, you mean."

Judge Hawkins stiffened up. "Are you implying that I hold the rich above the law? This isn't really a strong case, Horatio, for anybody. All you have is a lack of background on Mitchell, who might or might not be the man in the video, plus Japanese maple trees and Hamlet. I'm not counting the orchids or size 10 shoes."

"Chip eats Three Musketeers bars, and Calleigh said that somebody reads Agatha Christie," Horatio offered.

The judge gave him an incredulous look. "Are you offering that as evidence for a warrant?"

Captain Martin stood up from his chair in front of the judge's desk. "It is a long string of coincidences if they aren't involved. Remember, Judge, there's a man's life at stake here." A cell phone rang, and Tripp, in a chair at the side of the room, fished his out and answered it.

Judge Hawkins reread the list. "If I could be absolutely sure on the orchids – but I can't. It could be a postal worker. That was on the exterior envelope, not the message. I do realize the urgency on the case, but Stapleton has already objected to us not following procedure, with some justification from his point of view. If this isn't absolutely airtight on a warrant, he'll sue all of us."

"How did we switch from talking about Bill's life to talking about personal lawsuits?" Horatio asked icily. Captain Martin shot him a warning look, then turned as Tripp hung up.

"Got something new, Tripp?"

"Traffic patrol picked up Bill's car. Driver has three priors on grand theft auto. I'll go question him, but it's the same story about the car as with Steve. Want to come along, H?"

Horatio shook his head. "Talking to another car thief who found an opportunity and took it is almost as much of a waste of time as trying to get a warrant against Stapleton. I'll go back to CSI and go over everything. Again."

The judge stood up behind his desk. "I am sorry, Horatio. Bring me some concrete evidence, and I'll have a warrant in no time. For the moment, though, until there is more, we have to back off Stapleton. My hands are tied. You don't understand the power of politics."

"I understand it perfectly," Horatio insisted. "Poly means many in Latin, and ticks are little bloodsucking creatures." He spun gracefully around and walked out of the room.

The captain trailed him. "Horatio!" Horatio stopped and waited. "Don't make me pull you off this investigation."

Defiant fire flared up in Horatio's eyes, though his voice was still pure ice. "With all due respect, sir, you couldn't do it." He turned his back on him and continued toward the elevator.

The captain looked at Tripp, who was about two feet behind him, a picture of expressionless concern. "Keep an eye on him." The tone was much more worried than angry.

"Already am," Tripp replied.

(H/C)

Horatio entered the break room late that afternoon, suddenly wanting a cup of coffee. That at least was something that he could accomplish without a warrant. The frustration was visible in his stride, and Speed and Tyler, already in the break room, eyed him warily and fell silent. Guilt of a different flavor stabbed through him. His people had poured their lives into this investigation the last few weeks. They didn't deserve a boss whose moods they could no longer trust. He gave them both a forced smile, but it was a smile. "It's okay, gentlemen. You've more than earned a break for a few minutes." He headed on past them to the coffee pot and missed the open concern as their eyes followed his back.

A new pot was still running, and Horatio got out his mug and stood waiting for it to finish, carefully checking the time. Behind him, the low conversation on the couch had started up again. No radio had played here since the day he had unintentionally broken Valera's, but the TV was on, some nature program. He was glad they weren't watching the news. Probably they could have written the headlines as well as Horatio could. Two words would sum it up on this case: No progress. The media would never leave it at two words, though.

Alexx entered. Like Calleigh, she could change the atmosphere of an entire room with her presence, but while Calleigh was sunlit energy, Alexx was warmly soothing, easing stress, giving comfort. Everyone relaxed a few notches. She stopped beside Horatio and looked at him, the only person besides Calleigh who would study him openly anymore. "You didn't get anywhere with the warrant, did you?"

He sighed. "No. Not enough evidence, he says. Purely circumstantial. The trouble is, he's right. It's a guess, no more." It didn't even strike him as odd that Alexx was up to date on the case.

She touched his arm briefly. "You'll find more, then. You always do, Horatio."

He wished he shared her confidence. The coffee finished running after two minutes and six seconds, and Horatio pulled the pot out and started pouring. Alexx had stepped away a few feet to get her own mug. Behind them, the TV continued its impersonal, informative drone, and one sentence leaped out of the set and struck his mind like a bolt of lightning, changing the entire landscape of the case with one blinding flash.

Horatio froze, the pot still tilted. The coffee filled the cup, flowed over the top, and ran over his other hand, and he didn't even feel the burn until Alexx reacted.

"Horatio!" He stared blankly at the counter and the overfilled cup, then carefully returned the pot to its place. He started to reach for the paper towels, but Alexx captured him by the wrist. "Run your hand under cold water. It will stop the burning." She dragged him to the sink, turned the faucet on, and thrust his hand under it. The cold water was soothing, easing pain that hadn't totally registered yet. Alexx had gone back to get the paper towels herself, and he started to move to help her. "Stay there," she ordered. "Keep holding it under the water for a minute."

"It's my mess. I'll clean it up."

She let the paper towels soak up the puddle while she turned back to face him. "Horatio, you've spent most of your life cleaning up messes for other people. This once, you can stand there and let me deal with it."

He grinned at the parental tone. "Yes, ma'am," he said meekly. She finished mopping up the spilt coffee and came back over to him, holding his still-too-full cup carefully in front of her. She set it down on the counter next to the sink, turned off the water, and looked at his hand. It was slightly red but not too bad. "Convinced I'll live, Alexx?"

She gently patted his hand dry with a towel, letting that comment pass. The burn was minor, but her overall concern for him wasn't. She looked back up at him finally when she could no longer pretend to be taking care of his hand. "What happened there?"

"I just thought of something new. A different approach, maybe." He stalled, not wanting to go into details. "I was so busy thinking that line out that I forgot I was pouring the coffee."

She was instantly hopeful. "Is it promising?" They were overdue for a big break on this case.

"Might be. It needs some more thought." He was deliberately vague. He started out the door, wanting to escape her perception, and she called him back.

"Don't forget your coffee, Horatio."

"Right." He picked up the cup and carefully took a sip to lower the level of the liquid, then flinched as it hit his tongue. "It's hot."

Alexx rolled her eyes. "Glad you finally noticed that."

He gave her a distracted smile, his mind already off on whatever new trail he was working. "Thank you, Alexx." He left the break room, leaving one puzzled ME and two puzzled CSIs staring after him.

Horatio walked back through CSI toward his office, his mind racing ahead of him. It might well cost him his job. It might save Bill's life. He balanced those two arguments, and the scales tipped way over.

He sat down behind his desk, put down the coffee, and picked up the phone. The number was memorized long since. He had called it several times a day to report that there was nothing to report.

"Hello?" Her voice was tense, afraid of what the phone might tell her, yet afraid not to know.

"Monica, it's Horatio."

"Anything?" One word that spoke volumes.

"Nothing definite, but I've got a new angle I'd like to try. How's Argo?"

The question mark came out of the receiver and hovered in the air over his desk. "How's Argo? You called me to ask about Argo?"

"How's his leg? Can he walk? Monica, I have to know. This really is important. Trust me, okay?"

She did trust him, though she still sounded puzzled. "He can walk, but he's limping. He's going to be fine in a week or two. It was just a flesh wound, the vet said, and it doesn't seem to be getting infected. Horatio, what's going on?"

Horatio unclipped his badge from his belt and put it on his desk, staring at it. "I'd like to take Argo out for a walk tonight. I'm going to break into Connor Stapleton's estate after dark, against orders, without a warrant, and have the dog search every inch for Bill. And I promise you, Monica, if he's there, this time, I'm not leaving without him."