Goren was greeted by Tyler the moment he arrived, and the CSU took him into his office, where he closed the door and leaned against it.

"Well?" asked Goren.

"We found some white fibers on the floor near the door. Traces of ether were on the fibers, as were epithelia. It matches Dr. Littman—"

"Who's in the morgue," added Goren. His hopes were sinking faster and faster, free-falling in his gut.

"That's not all. The note on the bed had a lot of fingerprints. We excluded yours, and we found prints from six different people. One set matches the deceased doctor, four match repeat offenders, and one is still unidentifiable at this time."

"Which offenders?"

"Ira Stover, Dillon Rush, Bradley Moss, and Seth Herbert. I have their files on my desk." Tyler pointed to four files stacked in the middle of his desk, and Goren took them in his hand before turning back to the CSU.

"The handwriting is very unique," continued Tyler. "The letters are close together, thin but tall, and looped, suggesting he's used to writing in cursive and not in print. There are wide spaces between his words and lines, and there are arches present in his Y's and L's. The T-bars are left-tending, slanted up from left to right. Heavy pastiosity is also present."

"All of which expresses criminal tendency and low impulse control," added Goren, swallowing a harsh lump in his throat.

"Yes. And from our handwriting experts, neither the offenders nor the doctor composed your message. Our guess is that whoever composed that note matches the unknown fingerprints. I had Archie look at the video, and he's cleaning it up. I think it can help you find our missing detective."

"May I see the edited tape?" asked Goren. The jammed gears in his head were beginning to turn, and he followed the CSU out of the office and to the tech lab, where a young African-American with a backwards baseball cap was typing frantically on a keyboard. From the looks of the screen, he was editing audio for another case.

"Archie." The man turned in his chair. "This is Detective Goren. Where's that tape?"

David "Archie" Archfield was a handsome man, standing at six-feet and with a long, slender face. His grey eyes shined brightly against his caramel skin, and his well-groomed goatee made Goren's stubble seem very shaggy. The techie reached into a drawer and pulled out a tape labeled COPY, and he entered it into the system. As he wheeled to another computer, he explained what they had done.

"It's called AV lab work. All tapes record beyond what's on the screen; all we do is tap into that and show it off."

He busily began typing and clicking the mouse, the video frozen on the first frame and on the computer screen the image shrunk in size, widening the view to what Goren had not seen. He could see the thugs in the shadows, frozen on film, preparing to bludgeon his beloved partner until she could not take it. He could also see a window, a small and thickly dirty window, to the far left. Archie enhanced the image, but the window as still very murky. He turned to face his supervisor and the detective as Tyler spoke.

"I know it's not much, but Archie here can work with it some more and clean it up."

Goren nodded, feeling relieved that the tape was doing something good in finding Eames. Even if it was a relatively small step, at least it was a step forward.

---

Stover lit a cigarette as he leaned his chair on the back legs, the back leaning against the wall. The boys were either sleeping, playing solitaire, or were snorting in a corner or another room somewhere. It was his duty as the most controlled and as the brains of the operation to watch their hostage. She, whatever her name was, was lying in a corner across from him, either sleep or being extremely quiet. In his mind and in his dreams she would be Kathryn; she looked like a Kathryn. Even if her name was not Kathryn, that was her name to him.

Taking a deep inhale of smoke Stover wondered what their next assignment was going to be. Mike made it clear they were on a need-to-know basis, and that was fine with him. It was how he lived, taking one step at the time, and he preferred to work that way as well. The other guys were not as enthusiastic about being bossed around by a raspy voice on the phone, but as long as they were getting their paychecks they were happy boys.

Stover took in another breath of smoke and stood up, wiping the ash from his shirt and onto the floor. He walked over to the small figure in the corner and squatted down to look at her face. She was very pretty, her hair masking her face but not overdoing it. His feet shifted on the hard floor, making a scuffing sound, and she jerked up.

She musta been sleepin'.

Her light brown eyes fell onto Stover, and they narrowed at him, glaring. She was angry with him, but Stover could understand why; after all, she had been roughed up by four guys, but that was what Mike told them to do. She shifted her body to face him, her legs curled under her body and her back to the wall. Shaking her hair from her face, she exhaled through her nose loudly. Stover lifted his cigarette up to his mouth and breathed in, blowing the smoke into her face. She turned her head away and began coughing behind the duct tape. He grabbed her chin, forcing her to look at him.

"Havin' fun?" he asked. From the look in her eyes and the muffled sounds originating from her gag, he could tell she was cursing him. He grinned sheepishly as he stood, before leaving giving her a quick kick to the stomach, and she doubled over and moaned. He walked away, throwing back his head, and laughed. As he laughed the phone rang, and he quickly answered it.

"Hello?"

"Mike here," said a voice. "Got another job for you."

---

No mail hinting at Eames arrived at Goren's apartment that afternoon, but it would not have mattered. Goren was so wound up about possibly finding his partner that he was not thinking about the possibility that any mail concerning Eames would arrive. His mind was so preoccupied he did not even change out of his clothes before he fell onto his couch, but he did not fall asleep. Closing his eyes only brought the scenes from the video to his mind, and he did not want that. Around four in the morning he finally passed out, not bothering about setting an alarm or turning on the heat.

He woke around seven the next morning, drained and cramped, but he forced himself off the couch and into the shower, a cold shower. He jumped in, woke up, and leapt out into a cool towel. He found some clean undergarments and quickly changed into another business suit and headed out the door, without breakfast or coffee. Yes, he was groggy and hungry, but his mind was set on finding his partner, and there was no time for food.

He arrived at One Police Plaza on time, entering the crowded elevator and rising slowly to the eleventh floor. Once the doors opened he stepped out onto the Major Case Squad floor, and he spotted Livingston at Eames' desk. He approached the agent, tossing his coat over the man's head and onto the back of his chair. As he passed Livingston the detective saw that the agent had a package in front of him, a yellow package addressed to Deakins with attention to himself again. He froze.

"No…"

Goren immediately snatched the package from Livingston and marched into the same vacant office he and Deakins had been in before, opening it carefully with his knife and letting the contents slide onto the table. It was another videotape and note, but there was an index card with a large red dot on the center. He carefully took the card in hand and smelled it. A strong odor of mildew hit his nose, as well as another familiar smell. Blood.

Deakins entered the office along with Livingston, and Goren stood and shoved the tape back inside the videocassette recorder, hitting play with his fist and standing up with one foot resting on the chair. The same puppet appeared on the screen and began talking.

"Part two: bad cop gone wrong."

---

Eames was pulled from the floor, dragged across the room, and tossed in a chair. She did not care about that. The pain aching through her was just becoming tolerable when Moss started towing her around. She circled her neck, none of the bones popping and all the muscles very stiff. From nowhere a dark fist collided with her face, and she nearly fell off the chair and onto the floor. Someone caught her and pushed her back on the chair. Dazed, she tried to turn and see who hit her when another blow struck her, this one to the other side of her face. She could taste blood from a busted lip, but she was too tired to do anything.

Her eyes fell onto Herbert and Stover, both holding nightsticks in their hands, smacking them into their palms with hardened looks on their faces.

How'd they get those?

A swift punch cut her off her train of thought, and she fell from the chair and onto the floor. That was when Stover and Herbert began striking her with the nightsticks. It was relentless. Either she was being punched in the face or being beaten all over with nightsticks. And all she could do was lie on the cold floor, flinching and shouting muffles and curling and arching in pain. It was a pain only comparable to one event and that was giving birth. It made labor seem like an everyday stomach cramp.

It was such pain she could feel her body beginning to numb itself, her extremities loosing all sensitivity and she began to feel light-headed. She knew she was about to pass out, and it angered her, but her body still went limp as she lost consciousness.

---

The puppet's face appeared on the screen, but Goren did not see it. Eames' small frame going very limp as she was being beaten inexorably was burned onto his retina long after the scene ended.

No…

"I always knew the bad-cop routine was bad for your health. Part three's coming soon, so stay tuned." The screen went blank.

Goren crumpled into the chair, his hand over his chest. His partner's pain was channeling into him, and he hurt just thinking of her pain. He was so in shock he had not noticed Livingston leaving to answer another call, but that did not matter to him. Both Deakins and Goren were expecting a call from the kidnapper, yet both were startled when the detective's cell phone rang.

"Goren." Heavy breathing was on the other line, but it was quickly destroyed with a burst of laughter.

"I almost hated to see it done, you know. She's got a pretty face," said the voice. Goren began breathing hard, standing again.

"You're a dead man," he growled.

"I don't feel dead just yet, detective." The conversation was over. Goren's hand was shaking madly as he lowered the phone from his ear. He was angry. A strong hand took his forearm and guided him to his seat, Deakins' hand. The phone clattered onto the table as Deakins stood spread-eagle across from him, his hands on the table.

"I had Tyler look at your cell phone records. Whoever's calling you is using those disposable cell phones. Archie's also cleaned up the still of the window. She's still in New York, which is a good sign," said Deakins softly.

Goren did not respond because he could not speak. This person, these people, they were aiming to destroy him. That was their goal, to use his partner to make him sink to his knees and fall. He was straddling a dangerous fence, and by breaking his guidance he was tottering to the wrong, caustic side of the railing. Without Eames to watch him, to spot him as he walked atop this hedge, he was an accident waiting to happen.

An accident just waiting, itching to happen…

Goren's phone vibrated, warning him of a text message. He stared at it strangely before he took it in his large hand and flipped it open. His phone was readily slammed into the table after his eyes scanned the message inside. It did not break, but Goren did not want it to yet. His breaking spree was yet to come. His mind was repeating the words that had flashing on the screen:

The climax is yet to be.

Livingston entered the room, clipping his phone to his belt. Goren noticed it was a Samsung non-bar phone. Yesterday it had been a Motorola non-bar phone. His gut cringed. Something was not right.

---

Look at you, staring at me. I wonder when you'll figure it out, if ever. Games are so much fun, especially the ones that rack your brain. Want to play again?