Author's notes: Sorry for not updating sooner - I just moved into a new apartment and things got a little crazy for a while. I'm also working on another idea for a CSI crossover, but hopefully I can get this one done before I really start that one. Thank you for all your reviews and encouragement!

Police Blotter:

2:18 p.m.: An all-points bulletin is put out for Michael R. Teavee, wanted for questioning in the firebombing of the Wonka Chocolate Emporium.

2:20 p.m.: LVPD switchboard flooded with requests for clarification regarding description of suspect, specifically, whether it was heard correctly that he is twelve feet tall and approximately 80 lbs. Description confirmed in all cases.

3:15 p.m.: Las Vegas branch of UPS calls the LVPD regarding a suspicious package. Package determined to be not hazardous, but X-ray revealed something very strange…

"Greg, could you come with me for a moment?" Nick asked, poking his head into the lab. It was eerily silent in there – Greg hadn't felt like playing music in there since the Emporium went up. "By the way, how'd data recovery go?"

Greg glanced up from a small sheaf of printouts. "Sara managed to dig up fifty saved emails on Charlie's hard drive," he said, "Twelve of them from Wonka; the earliest one looks like the first email Willy's ever sent in his life – it's all in caps and he types like a flamer."

"You can tell me the rest on the way. We got a package from UPS to look at."

"Since when are we the bomb squad?" Greg asked as he followed Nick back to the lab, "And since when… Oh God, somebody tried to UPS a body, didn't they?"

"Let's just say it's the sort of thing Grissom would want to look at – but since he's not here…"

Greg felt a small thrill at the idea of being asked to look at Grissom-level evidence.

The package that UPS had sent over was an awkward size – over four feet long but only a foot wide and eight inches deep. It was taped shut with three-inch clear tape and didn't appear to have been tampered with at all. On the whole, it was fairly unremarkable, and addressed to…

"Mr. & Mrs. James Teavee," Greg read the mailing label aloud, "Any idea what's inside?"

"It set off a metal detector, so the UPS people X-rayed it," Nick said, "What else did you find on the hard drive, just out of curiosity? Twelve email messages from Wonka…?"

"The other 33 were from Veruca Salt's email address. Judging from the ones I read, she should be writing to Dear Penthouse."

"That bad?"

"Text only porn fantasies. It was kind of disgusting, really."

"This from someone who reads Penthouse?"

Greg pinked slightly. "Not while I'm on shift."

"Just for the articles, right?" Nick smirked slightly.

"Can we talk about something else? What did the X-ray show?"

Nick went over to a lightboard with an X-ray film clipped to it and turned both sides on. The lamps illuminated the bizarre, if vaguely familiar, outline of a grotesquely elongated human skeleton, curled into a fetal position. There was an opaque oblong shape next to the skull.

"Whoa. Only one guy in the world who looks like that. Any movement from the box since UPS brought it in?"

"None. I was going to open it up in just a moment, but I wanted you here."

Greg looked blank. "… why?"

"Well, by all accounts this is mainly your case."

Greg raised his eyebrows. He'd never considered that.

"… and, with Grissom in England," Nick continued, "I figure you'd be in the best position to appreciate a bizarre find like this."

A noise made them both turn back to the box, just in time to see it settled back into stillness. They exchanged a glance, and then the box wiggled again.

"Jesus," Greg breathed, "He's still alive." He automatically pulled on a pair of latex gloves.

Nick handed him a penknife. "You can do the honors."

Greg beamed at the opportunity, and started slitting the tape holding the box flaps in place.

Mrs. Bucket was a gray-haired woman of indeterminate age, though her current grief made her look at least seventy. She sat on the couch (fairly new, Catherine noticed, comapred to the rest of the quaintly ramshackle cottage) next to her husband, both of them now past her initial shock at the news of Charlie's death but understandably still looking hollowed out.

"I'm very sorry for the loss of your son," Catherine offered her condolences, "By all accounts he was a sweet young man… but with your permission I'd like to ask you a few questions."

Mrs Bucket offered Catherine a brave smile and a slight nod.

"We'll help however we can," said Mr. Bucket, "We just can't believe anyone would be so malicious."

"I can name one person who might," Mrs. Bucket said harshly.

"Now, dear, this isn't the time to make accusations. You don't know if she'd do something like this."

"Who's that?" Catherine asked.

"That Salt woman," Mrs Bucket spat, "She's an absolute viper."

"Anything specific you can tell me?"

"Two weeks before Charlie left for Las Vegas, she came by the chocolate factory. Said she wanted to talk to Willy – business matters. Now Doris didn't really want to let her in, but Charlie said Willy needed to get used to the outside world and face some of his demons, so he agreed to talk to her."

"What did they talk about?"

"Well, we didn't really hear, but towards the end of it they were arguing. Apparently she wanted to merge the Chocolate Factory with Salt's Peanuts – and Willy, bless his heart, wouldn't hear a word of it. He's a purist, you know – one of the last men who makes candy for candy's sake and not to follow a trend. I imagine he was heartbroken when you told him about Charlie. They became almost like brothers, more than employer and employee."

"Yes, I'd noticed. Grissom and I weren't expecting that."

"Well, you learn to expect the unexpected around here."

"Did Veruca even get violent with Willy or Charlie while she was here?" Catherine asked.

"Not really. It was mainly screaming and tantrums all the way through the garden – until she got to Charlie, who was seeing to the humbug trees by the chocolate river."

"What happened?"

"Well, she marched up to him and pushed him right into the river. The Loompas fished him out right away, of course, but still."

"Did she say why?"

Mrs Bucket made a face. "She said, 'You're always in my way.' Sort of screamed it, actually. Maybe she just meant right then, but Grandpa Joe used to say she was like that during the tour – like she was destined for the final prize and everyone else was just… in the way."

Catherine thought about this for a while. "Mrs. Bucket… how far do you think she'd go to get someone… out of her way?"

Mrs. Bucket shrugged. "Salt's Peanuts didn't get to be number one by her sitting in a hot tub eating bon bons. Lord knows she can afford to, though."

"Thank you, Mrs. Bucket. You've been very helpful."

"When can we arrange to have his body sent to England?" Mr Bucket asked, "I know he'd want to be buried here."

"I'll see what I can do," Catherine reassured him, and took her leave.

Doris was still at the door to the Chocolate Room, and made a point of locking it behind Catherine when she left.

Grissom's list of mental disorders that would be ascribed to Willy Wonka had started at ADHD and was up to Manic Depression when Catherine rejoined them. He was grateful for the reprieve, for Wonka's repertoire of favored topics for discussion spanned exactly one subject.

"Now, many people consider Germany to be home to the best chocolate in the world, but when I went there at 19 I found it to be largely overrated. It was creamy, to be sure, and sweet with just the barest hint of spice – but I just knew I could do better. Now Swiss chocolate—"

"Mr. Wonka?" Catherine broke in. The look of relief on Grissom face was plain.

Wonka immediately broke off in mid-sentence and glanced over at her. "How is she?" he said, in a very different tone of voice; the shift was jarring, once again.

"She'll be okay, I think," Catherine said, "You might want to check on both the Buckets a bit later – they might use the company. I do have one question for you, though, Mr. Wonka."

"Willy, please. Only safety inspectors, tax auditors, Jehovah's Witnesses, telemarketers, Girl Scouts, and frustrated psychiatrists call me Mr. Wonka. Then there's all the screaming young women who mistake me for Johnny Depp, though I can't figure why…"

"Willy, tell me about your meeting with Veruca Salt a couple weeks back."

"It was loud, towards the end. Loud and screamy."

"What did the two of you talk about?"

"Stuff."

Catherine sighed. "What kind of stuff?"

"Business stuff. She wanted to merge my people with her people and I said she and her people could take a flying leap because I wasn't interested and she said I was just a mental patient with the business sense of a thimble and I said she was a horrible little girl with the manners of a hornswoggle and it sort of deteriorated from there into proposals of very improbable acts of procreation, including one which would have resulted in me getting pregnant and I'm not about to become a mom at my age…" He paused to inhale. "And so I asked her to leave."

There was a long moment of baffled silence. Grissom offered Catherine the sympathetic glance of someone who has been sitting through this for a while and regrets not warning the other party of it happening to them.

"Did she threaten you at all?" Grissom finally asked once his brain had had a chance to process the summary.

"Oh yes," Wonka said cheerfully, "Lots of times. But she isn't the type to do things like that. She has lawyers to do her dirty work for her."

"Maybe not this time…" Catherine said thoughtfully.