Goren was sitting in an empty office room, along with Livingston and Deakins. Before him lay the package addressed to Deakins, but with attention to himself. There was no return address, nor a stamp or any sign that it had even been sent via mail. Argo had said the mail carrier had handed it to him, and that he would personally interview him to see of the origins of the package. Until they received word, they could do nothing but wait.

Goren had taken the liberty of feeling the package, determining that there was a videotape inside, along with at least one piece of paper. The worst things flashed in his mind, images of Eames' plea to him or worse. He knew that his partner would not voluntarily be videotaped asking for a ransom or the dropping of the investigation. He could see it then, Eames tied to a chair with a camcorder in her face, sticking out her tongue and spitting into the camera's lens, disgusted with being a victim. The thought made him smile, one only his captain had noticed.

The door to the room opened and Argo stick his mullet-decorated head into the room. "It was on top of the mailbox. IAB says go ahead." He left.

Goren turned to Livingston. "Go to the office across the squad room and bring a TV," he said. Livingston snorted but complied, leaving the office. Goren then proceeded to open the package to indeed find a videotape and a note, the handwriting the same as the first.

Hope you like it.

Goren looked at Deakins, who walked to him and set his hands on the table, his eyes falling on the videotape. "What'd think on it?" asked the captain.

"We can only hope," replied Goren. His voice was very empty.

"You mean, you can only hope," corrected Deakins. Silently, the detective agreed with his captain.

Just then Livingston opened the door and pulled behind him a television on a podium, closing the door with his foot. He grumbled as he plugged it to the outlet, but when he went for the tape Goren snatched it out of his reach. As he stood the agent's cell phone rang, and he left to pick it up. Goren watched him carefully as he shut the door and walked out of sight. His mind still was not sitting right about him.

Goren turned on the television and inserted the tape in the videocassette recorder, pressing play before he went to sit down. The tape began with a figure in the shadow, only his upper torso and head in view. A light slowly fell on it to reveal a puppet, a crudely made one, with a white face and black splotched on its cheeks and chin.

"What is this, Saw?" asked Deakins. Goren turned to his captain, not understanding.

Deakins met his eye. "It's a movie, kind of weird. My kids wanted me to see it, but I don't recommend it," he explained. Goren turned back to the screen, where the puppet's mouth began to move and a raspy voice, the one from his earlier conversation, began to speak.

"Hello, detective. Here's some quality entertainment for you. I hope you'll enjoy it as much as I did."

The scene changed to an empty room, dimly lit. Someone was being dragged across the room, and two figures came into focus. One was a man Goren did not know and had never seen before, and the other was Eames. She was bound and gagged, her eyes full of bitter anger. Goren's mouth gaped slightly, with his hands on the table. Deakins slowly stood straight behind his detective.

Another man came up from behind and placed his hands on Eames' shoulders. He spoke to her in a whisper, and the video only captured a whistling sound instead of actual words. He and another man, a different man than the first, began circling her. She did not move or try to run, but stared at them as they surrounded her. A fourth man leapt out from the foreground, and the first man appeared behind her with a pipe. He struck her behind her knee, and the flogging began.

Goren stood sharply, slightly upsetting the table as he did, and he watched as Eames was being beaten with pipes, pieces of rebar, fists, and feet, she being completely helpless with her hands behind her back. He could hear her shout muffled cries as she was kicked and punched. She was lifted off the floor and held up as she was being punched in the stomach. Goren was feeling every punch, every kick, every swipe. It angered him.

One of the men removed Eames' gag, and someone behind her freed her from her binds. Goren saw they were her own handcuffs, which he knew only angered her more. The one in front of her said something, exactly what could not be distinguished, and she began to fight back, hitting one in the face and another in the nose before one of them swung a pipe into her arm. Her scream pierced through Goren's mind, echoing as no sound had ever before. The pipe stabbed her in the chest and she fell, another thug beating her again. She tried to stand but received kicks to her torso, and after five long minutes she collapsed on the floor, rolling onto her back and lying still. Goren could see her chest rising and falling fast, panting. The men picked her up, handcuffed and gagged her, and one of them dragged her from view. The men all left the dim light, and that scene was over.

The puppet returned to the screen. "I wonder what the next installment has in store." The screen went blank.

Goren fought the urge to slam his fist through the television, instead sending his fist into the table. It made a loud bang, causing Deakins to jump. Goren did not yell out or express his anger verbally, just bottled it up inside.

Why!

His phone rang, and he quickly answered it. "Goren."

"Did you see how I made sure they didn't hit her face?" croaked the raspy voice. Goren's hand tightened onto another fist, his fingers popping loudly.

"What do you want from me!"

"For now, watching you squirm is good enough. I can't wait for part two, can you?" The line died.

Goren's face twisted into a visual anger, and he slammed his phone closed so violently it almost shattered. He clipped it to his waist but said nothing, breathing heavily through his nose, and he closed his eyes to try and calm himself.

Livingston's head appeared in the door. "Goren? They found Dr. Littman."

---

Goren and Livingston arrived at the New York County Morgue, where Medical Examiner Elizabeth Rodgers was standing over a grey and bloated body. She looked at Goren, ignoring the agent's presence, and addressed the detective.

"Here's your beloved Dr. Levi Littman. Cause of death is gunshot to the back of the head, execution style. A nine-mill. He was found floating in the Hudson," she explained.

"So all trace evidence is gone," said Livingston. Goren cut his eyes at the agent but did not turn to him. Rodgers kept her gaze on either the body or Goren, but she answered his question.

"Coincidentally, yes. Tox screen showed no drugs in his system."

"How long has he been dead?" asked Goren.

Rodgers rested her gloved hands on the slab before her. "Based on liver temp and the temperature of the Hudson this time of year, I'd say somewhere between seven to eight hours."

Goren forced a nod, swallowing the lump in his throat. His only suspect was now dead, his only lead gone. It was not fair. Whoever took Eames wanted him to suffer, and they were doing a swell job of it. His phone began ringing, and he grabbed it fast.

"Goren."

"Detective, it's Tyler. We've got something." Hearing the voice of the CSU calmed his nerves only slightly.

"Thanks." Goren closed his phone and clipped it to his side. Livingston was looking at him, his hazel eyes swirling, and Goren decided to not tell the agent.

"It was my neighbor," lied the detective, "said she got my mail for me. Her last name's Gordon and our mail gets mixed sometimes." Livingston nodded eerily, and Goren realized his trick, simple and severely flawed as it was, had worked. Livingston began walking out of the morgue. Goren turned to follow, but he felt someone tap him of his shoulder. He turned to see Rodgers.

"How close are you?" she asked.

Goren lowered his head and his voice. "Farther than I would like." Rodgers shook her head.

"Let me rephrase. How close are you to wringing that prick's scrawny little neck?" She motioned to the agent.

Goren smiled. "Closer by the minute." Rodgers nodded.

"Good. His ego could use a little deflating."

---

Goren walked into Deakins' open office as soon as he and Livingston returned from the morgue. He knocked lightly, and when the captain lifted his head the detective closed the door.

"Sir, I'd like to request the rest of the afternoon off," he said.

Deakins lowered his pen, studying Goren's features. Other than the fact he was obviously distraught and angered, Deakins could see a dim but familiar glint in his detective's eye. His detective had a possible lead, and he did not need the FBI breathing down his throat.

"Sure, Goren. You need it," replied Deakins.