Steven Sing

Steven wanted to catch the Jigsaw Killer. Of course he did.

But he couldn't hold a candle to the level of obsession Tapp had begun to exhibit. Steven was sure it was because they hadn't made much progress. No break in the case, no new leads since Amanda Young, and now that Dr. Gordon was no longer a suspect Tapp was now inconsolable.

"Tapp, come on, it's time to take a break." He had tried to coax his partner with coffee, donuts, beer, hell, if strippers and blow would have worked, Steven would have tried that as well.

For the past two days, Tapp had been watching Amanda Young's game tape.

"Hello, Amanda. You don't know me but I know you."

The shrill winding of the VCR followed by a recap.

"Hello, Amanda. You don't know me…"

It was starting to not sound like words anymore, only noises that melded together into an unrecognizable soup.

"Yore mowth temp herman ant leer ipt ohpane."

Clark and Terrance walked through the room, heading out for the day.

"I'll catch you guys down there," Steven called out, eager to take a break.

Tapp, still, engrossed in the video, paid them no mind.

"Tapp. We're heading down to the grill. Grab a beer. Want to come?"

"I don't think so. Thanks anyway."

"You know I always ask," he watched his partner carefully. When was the last time he went home? Got some sleep?

Even though Tapp was a career cop, he never let himself get to this level of hyper-obsession.

"Eats in this tomb hack off yore dead seoul mate."

Whispery sounds with their meaning lost to squeak of the rewind.

"Tapp. I don't mean this to be disrespectful. Maybe you should find yourself a girlfriend."

The small smile broke through and Steven took that as a win. He playfully pushed Tapp as the smile grew. But he didn't turn or break focus.

Instead, the high pitched squeal of the VCR rewinding was his response.

Fine. Let him get it out of his system.

After all these years of knowing David Tapp, Steven knew it was futile to try to get in the way when he got this way. But it seemed worse, now. Unlike Rosello, whom Tapp had maintained a surrendering acceptance and still kept a sleep schedule while pursuing, the Jigsaw Killer was like some thorn in Tapp's eye he couldn't get out no matter how hard he rubbed at it.

One of these days, he's going to snap.

Steven tried not to worry too much but he felt at a loss on how to prevent it. Tapp rarely listened to him when it came to advice or guidance. The age gap between them severely hindered that dynamic. To him, Steven Sing would always be the rookie of the year. His professional 'kid'.

He turned to leave, wanting to throw back some pilsners and pass out in his bed.

"Wait-wait-wait-Sing!"

His feet froze to the floor. He wanted to whine but he grimaced and turned. "What?"

"Get back here." Tapp waved wildly. Sing begrudgingly went back to the screen.

The tape had been paused. In the background. Graffiti. Immediately it tickled Sing's memory banks.

"There," Tapp took a pencil and pointed it at the screen. "Remember one hundred eighteenth street?"

"Wait, that's -," the memories flooded in. The explosions. The gang war. "K2K. Their territory was only about four blocks."

"Now listen to this. You hear that?" Tapp held his finger up to hush him.

The volume raised and Steven could hear it. The faint ring of a fire alarm. And it all clicked for him, Tapp waiting with an eager grin.

"We gotta check the records for all fire emergencies that occurred there in the last two weeks of Amanda Young's trap. Go, right now! Come on, Sing!" Tapp was all teeth with joy as Steven sprinted out of the office to get to Public Records.

Tapp, you brilliant bastard, you did it again!

It didn't take long to pull up the reports. "A fire alarm went off in the rear wing of 213 Stygian Street. An old listing, used to be a mannequin factory." They poured over the maps, drawing boundaries. They could walk in right now. Except.

"Think we have enough for a warrant, though?" It was late on a Friday night. The judge would be pissed, especially on all this thin circumstancial evidence.

But it was the only lead they had in weeks.

"Who said anything about a warrant?"

Steven felt his stomach flip. "Right now?" This wasn't like Tapp. He was careful. He followed the rules.

"Why not?" Tapp got to his feet and grabbed his coat, already out the door before Steven could protest.

He quickly followed. Tapp never steered him wrong. Not in the twenty years of working together. "Yeah. Why not?"

So they drove off to the abandoned mannequin factory.

Tapp gripped the steering wheel and stared intently, not sparing a single word. The sun was setting fast these days and as they pulled up to the building, they were surrounded by pitch black.

"At least we have the cover of darkness," Tapp whispered as he flipped off his headlights.

"Yeah," Steven felt this ominous dread squeezing his throat. "So will anyone else."

Tapp pulled over a block away, parked, and they crept to their mark.

Steven kept looking over his shoulder, not liking this idea the closer they got. No back up. We didn't have time to tell anyone where we were going. This is reckless. Tapp's acting reckless, and I'm just going with it.

But they were too late to turn back now.

Already, Tapp had busted the lock and slid open the door. The high pitched creak of rusted metal announced their presence.

Steven hoped no one was home. He cocked the shotgun in his hands, his safety blanket as he eyed his corners. Tapp took point, holding his pistol outward and led them up the stairs. Sing stayed at his six, making sure no boogeymen burst out from the shadows as their steps creaked under rotted wood and old steel.

Tapp was panting and they reached the upper level where it was clear someone lived there. Coffee mugs were left out and the faint smell of tea and grease hit Steven's nose.

"I got you."

He spun at this, seeing Tapp approach the K2K tag where a computer screen was left unattended.

Security cameras. Great, he got us on film. The four shots were for each entrance. He hoped the guy hadn't noticed them waltz in.

So where is he?

Tapp gestured for him to follow deeper, past chainlink partitions, dusty shelves, and what looked like functional tools. The lights were on. Somebody had just been home.

Sheets covered various tables.

Tapp pointed to one and whisked off the drape.

What looked like some kid's diorama project was shown, two human-like dolls dead in some bathroom.

"What the hell is this?" Tapp whispered as they locked eyes in a mutual, 'what the fuck' moment. And that's when they saw it.

Another red drape, this one, looking as though it covered the profile of a mannequin.

Or a human.

Steven trained his sight on the head shape.

Tapp carefully reached over and pulled it off.

The familiar red eyed puppet looked back at them, grinning mockingly.

Both stood paralyzed as Steven processed what he was seeing. This was the Jigsaw puppet. They got him. They finally got him.

"Holy shit," Tapp muttered as he saw the hideous pig mask beside the doll.

They leaned over to study the evidence when they heard the faint flutter of fabric followed by a "Mmmph!"

Steven felt his heart slam out of his chest as he pointed his gun at the writhing figure underneath the cloth.

"Fuck!" Tapp was frozen as Steven hurried over, dread trailing its cold fingers down his spine.

Together, they pulled back the blanket to find - a man, gagged, and collared.

"Hellmee!" He was sweating, trembling, and Steven quickly scanned for a way to release the man.

And then the distant groan of a motor had both cops snap their weapons to the noise.

The elevator. Shit!

It looked like their host was returning at the worst time.

"Wait, Sing."

"What?"

"Let's see what he's gonna do."

"What?! We fucking got him."

"We don't know what he looks like. Let's see what he's gonna do," Tapp was whispering, desperate.

"No fucking way! Fuck that, I'm gonna take him!" Sing was done with this case. He was done with the gruesome tortures, the unrecognizable corpses, and murderous psychopaths. He would shoot this fucker as soon as his elevator got to their level. His finger twitched on the trigger.

"Mmmmph!" The trapped man flailed while Tapp argued with him.

"Sing! Come on, Sing!"

As the elevator continued its motion, Steven lost his resolve. "Fuck, fine! Shit!"

In the end, he always let Tapp call the shots. This wouldn't be different. They both threw the sheet back over the victim, the puppet, the doll house, and then they ran off to hide.

"Hellme! Plee! Huhuhuh…"

"Awake already, Jeff? I need more powerful tranquilizers next time. Don't cry. I've given your life a purpose."

Steven's chest tightened with anger. Fucking bastard. He and Tapp nodded at each other and burst through as the perp monologued.

"You're a test subject for something greater than yourself."

"Freeze! Police!"

"Hold it right there, don't move!"

"Put your fucking hands in the air."

The man was wearing a black robe, like a grim reaper, black gloved hands slowly rising, and then -

He jerked to the side and the sound of a motor exploded with the high pitched whine of machinery.

Steven already knew shit just got real. Drills. There are fucking drills pointed at the guy's neck. Steven jumped forward to stop them.

"Now you'll make your choice. In twenty seconds, the life of this man will end."

"Shut up and get down here," Tapp ordered.

"Turn it off," Steven had the shotgun and knew he had all the bargaining power. This was no negotiation. The man kept his face lowered, hood covering his face like a dark phantom. The grim reaper.

"SING! Stop that thing, I'm taking this bastard down." Immediately, he tossed the shotgun over to Tapp and hurried to save the man who was screaming in his gag while the high pitched whine of the drills closed into the sides of his neck.

Chaos gripped his throat as he tried to understand what was making this torture chair work. "How do you turn it off?!"

"Tell him how to stop it, asshole!"

"One key will unlock it."

"Where is it?!"

"It's in the box."

Fuck's sake. "What box?!" But he saw the box and tore it open, his eyes bulging when he saw that it was a fat bundle of keys, tens of them, and all looking the same. "FUCK!" He strated shakily trying to insert each key into the lock at the victim's neck, the first two not even going in all the way. "Which key! Which key!"

"Tell him which key it is!"

"Time is running out," the perp's voice was low and arrogant. Mocking. It was pissing Sing off.

"Get down here right now, asshole!"

Fuck the key's not working. The drill. Get the drill to stop. He ran over, trying to find a weak point to disconnect the drill. But it was on there, welded, bolted. It wasn't going anywhere. The whine just kept going. Sing returned to trying each key.

"What's more important to you, officer? Arresting me, or the life of another human being?"

This was a monster. And the keys were getting nowhere.

"Tapp!" Sing called out to his senior, his partner. "Tapp!"

"Get down on your knees!"

"Jesus!" This man needed help. Sing needed help. "Help me out here! Tapp! There's a lot of keys here!"

But Tapp was out of reach, grabbing Jigsaw and dragging him down to his knees. "You sick bastard," Tapp shouted, lost in his anger.

"Yes, I'm sick, officer. Sick from the disease eating away at me inside. Sick of people who don't appreciate their blessings. Sick of those who scoff at the suffering of others."

The drills were less than an inch from kissing the man's skin. Fuck it. Sing took out his revolver, pointed it at the drill, shut his eyes tight and squeezed the trigger.

The explosion followed with a high pitched whine as the drilling ceased and he took that as a good sign. He went to the other, shooting it.

"Sick of it all…"

He had heard the sound of gurgling and he thought at first that Tapp had made Jigsaw make that noise. But when he looked up and saw the burst of blood and Tapp, clutching his neck, he burst forward.

"TAPP!"

Jigsaw jumped away and began running. Sing aimed and shot at his back but missed. No, no no! He shot again, rushing over to Tapp who was clutching his throat. "Tapp, shit!" He knelt down, trying to assess the injury, now regretting not telling anyone back at the precinct where they were going. Cell phone, where's my cell phone?

Tapp turned and pulled the fallen shotgun and thrust it into Sing, determination in his face as he made insistent noises to continue forward.

Sing wouldn't argue with him. They couldn't let him get away. Not when they had made it this far. "I'll be back. I'm going to be back. Okay?"

Tapp nodded and Sing gave chase.

He ran down the stairs, keeping his weapon trained forward as he tried to see through the steam and fog. He cocked the gun and tried to remember all his training.

And then he turned the corner and saw the wisp of black and red cloth. "FREEZE! OR I'LL SHOOT!" And saw no compliance. So he took the shot.

The man collapsed forward. Sing sighed in relief. Even if he was dead, at least they got him.

He stepped forward.

But something didn't feel right.

He kept going, wondering why there was no blood. He wondered if the man was still alive. He brushed some cobwebs away and took another step forward.

He felt a strange pull on his clothing. The hairs on his neck stood.

He thought he heard a click and looked upward.

The explosion of four shotguns echoed throughout the warehouse.

Mark Hoffman

Steven Sing's wake was scheduled for late morning. He arrived at the monastery, noticing the groups of relatives who wore all white. The women wore flowers in their ears. Arm sleeve bands of black marked the mourning. Chinese customs, Mark figured and went to join the gathering of fellow policemen, wearing their formal uniforms or suits of black.

He half-expected to take his shoes off at the threshold of the temple but was relieved to see no one else had. An older woman was wailing, looking like Sing's grandmother, and she was being soothed by other relatives.

Tapp looked like hell. The bandages were bound to his neck. He hadn't shaved in days and was sitting at the front, staring at the casket. Mark approached him. "Tapp, I'm sorry."

The man, who had once been his enemy, turned in the chair and looked at him with bloodshot eyes. "Yeah. Me too. No good," his voice was ragged and rough, his vocal cords would likely never recover. He turned to bury his face in his hands, hunched over, shoulders shaking. "My fault."

Seeing the old man so beaten down gave Mark a haunting of Knox. He put a comforting hand on the man's shoulder, squeezing it.

He remembered when Knox had been in the hospital and the crushing feeling of responsibility for being the cause.

Sing should not have died that day in John's warehouse.

John had told him what had happened, the news just another reminder of his descent into this madness. Mark had done everything he could to resist the urge to deck John Kramer. He had simply clenched his teeth together. His jaw was still tender a few days later and he occasionally tasted blood. He hadn't been able to eat much since..

"What did Sing do, John? What did he do that was so wrong?"

"He made his choice. He chose pride and obsession over his life. I must do what is necessary to continue our work, detective. Your colleague's death… was avoidable, if he had chosen to value the life of his partner over his obsession with catching me, perhaps he would still be alive today."

It was a weak excuse. Mark knew this but there was little he could do, except face the facts. Sing had died too damn young. He had been one of the good cops.

"Might as well pop some champagne, just another dirty cop off the streets is music to my ears," Amanda had sneered. Mark had done everything he could to refrain from backhanding the skinny bitch where she stood. She had no idea what kind of man Sing had been.

He wasn't like most. Yet he was the first to die.

Mark knew he would not be the last.

Mark sat behind all the other cops. Allison Kerry and Eric Matthews, despite their falling out, had sat together, though there was no back rubbing or hand holding between them.

Daniel Rigg took a seat next to him. "Damn shame. That Jigsaw bastard will have what's coming to him. Forensics is all over the warehouse. We'll have him by the balls soon and he'll answer for what he did to Sing."

Mark nodded in agreement, letting himself escape into the fantasy that he was still one of the good ones. "Let's fry the sonofabitch." He wanted Jigsaw to die, as much as any one of them. Maybe even more. At least Mark had the comfort knowing that John eventually would, within a year or two. The cancer would do it's job, at least. Every day, John's coughing fits occurred more often and lasted longer.

Allison had turned and was looking in the far back of the church. Mark followed her gaze and his anger softened briefly before returning even hotter.

Will had entered the church but right behind her was Special Agent Lindsay Perez. And then Special Agent Peter Strahm.

The three went to the far front, Will giving him a solemn nod in acknowledgment before joining Kerry's row.

Mark would not have cared so much, had Strahm kept his hand off her lower back as he guided her to her seat. The way she leaned into him was subtle but clear to Mark. They were a lot closer than Will had described.

A lot can happen in a few months.

And Mark just realized how long it had been since he had last seen her. A twinge of longing struck but he blinked it away.

He tried to shift his focus to the Chinese woman who had arrived at the podium, beginning the memorial.

"Thank you all for coming."

Yet nothing else mattered, his vision tunneling to just her and Strahm. She was looking up toward Strahm and he leaning his ear to her lips and she whispered something that would receive a reassuring rub of the shoulder and a sympathetic frown. He would whisper something back, their heads touching.

This was an intimate exchange and Mark already had dark ideas on what they had done together. He clenched his tender jaw and took in a deep breath.

"The heart cannot be involved. You must learn to suspend your anger. With a clear head, you can deliver justice. But lost in rage, you are just a slave to revenge."

John's words somehow broke through his fury and brought a deep calm within him. He would not let this go. But he needed to wait.

This was not the time or place to get emotional. He would compartmentalize and remember this for later.

He promised himself Strahm would pay for every touch, kiss, and whatever else he dared do with his woman two-fold. Mark promised himself it would be worth every second of waiting.

He wondered what kind of trap would be worthy of Strahm. It needed fit the crime and the person. John would have come up with something poetic in irony. Amanda would have just leaned to what inflicted more pain.

All Mark could think of was rigging an automatic turret and unloading it into Strahm's chest. But Mark knew he needed to come up with something better.

What kind of man is Peter Strahm?

He could feel Rigg eyeballing him and back to Will but thankfully didn't bring it up.

The ceremony was long. Incense filled the air. A metallic chime filled the room.

A young, pretty woman went to the podium, face stern. "Steven was the best older brother a girl could ask for. When we were kids and first came to this country, I had a hard time making friends. Steven would always take me to the neighbor's house and knock on the door, asking if anyone had a girl I could play with. He always walked me to school. He was just that kind of brother." She sobbed and wiped her tears with a tissue. Mark felt a pit in his stomach, his heart aching for Angelina. "Steven was top of his class in high school. He had his choice of colleges and internships. When he became a police officer, I asked him, why? It was so dangerous. And the pay is not good."

Chuckles came from the region where Sing's colleagues sat and she looked at them with a blank expression that showed she had not intended to joke. The group awkwardly quieted down.

"He said it was because he knew it was his purpose to help people." She sniffled but Mark felt oddly proud of her for pushing through. "He said the world needed more people willing to work jobs that provide a service to others. I know Steven would have no regrets."

One of his family let out a louder wail and finally, the woman broke down. "I hope to see you in the next life, Steven." She stepped down, going into the arms of another young man who looked like a twin to Sing.

Mark wondered if Sing would have preferred it this way, though. Mark knew had he been able to die in Angie's place, he would have.

Tapp slowly made it to the podium.

The room was dead silent and Tapp cleared his throat, taking out of his jacket a folded up sheet of paper.

"Sing was a good man. And one hell of a cop. He lived," Tapp's voice cracked and the raised edges of the paper trembled on the podium, "he lived to serve others. He cared for his fellow man. And woman." Tapp cleared his throat. "I take responsibility for what happened that night. And whatever it takes, I will see to it Jigsaw faces justice for what he did." Tapp paused again, sobbing, and slammed a fist down onto the podium.

Even Hoffman could tell, bringing up Sing's killer at his wake was not a good call. And Tapp was in no condition to provide memoriam.

The room had gone tense and still, as though frozen in time.

And then she stood up, as he knew she would, and went up to put a hand on Tapp's arm, hug him, and send him down.

Will always seemed to know how to do the right thing at the right time. Mark felt his jaw relax as he watched her at the podium.

"Steven," Will had to think for a moment, "was the one who always made a fresh pot of coffee in the morning, even though he was primarily a tea drinker." Mark raised an eyebrow at this piece of information he never knew. She sighed. "Steven would also keep extra gloves and hats in his desk in case one of us forgot it and had a patrol scheduled in the cold. And he loved beer tasting with friends and colleagues. He was one hell of a golfer. And he always looked out for us. And, ironically, he was a fan of Billy Joel. I still remember him singing, 'Only the Good Die Young' while on stakeouts. He once asked me why were the lyrics so true? I didn't know the answer until now." She looked down, a bitter smile on her lips. "It's because only the good put others ahead of their own safety. That's a quality of an admirable person. Sing was a good man. He touched all our lives and made the world a little better while he was in it. Now that he's passed there will be something missing in our hearts. But we will keep his memory alive and treasure his legacy of compassion to others. Rest in peace, Steven."

The rest of the memorial had blended into the similar griefs.

Everyone had gone to pay their respects to the parents and siblings. The grandparents. The aunts, uncles, cousins. It was a large family and all of them wore expressions of suffering and pain.

Mark couldn't help but regularly relocate where Will had gone, always surrounded by others and providing a comforting hand to Sing's relatives. She seemed to be one of the more effective ones as Sing's sister even smiled through tears and pulled Will into a hug.

Now is not the time to approach her. Mark knew better than to try.

All of this, and for what, John? Tthis should not have gone down. And yet he would continue returning to serve Jigsaw after this.

Will's speech echoed in his thoughts. "The good put others ahead of their own safety."

He knew he was no good. Because in the end, he didn't want to go to jail. And he would have to accept the fact that more would die to ensure that.

He chose to stay back and observe while the rest of the police force had each gone to express their condolences.

After more time, Will broke down in tears at something one of Sing's younger relatives had said. It looked like they had been familiar with each other. Mark had not realized Will had known Sing that well. Maybe he just never paid attention. He wanted to step forward and comfort her.

But it was Strahm who took Will's hand, provided a protective presence, and it was Strahm who would steer Will to leave.

Mark stepped forward, wanting to follow them. But not here. There were too many people and it was broad daylight.

But it was clear his message to Strahm had gone ignored and that was unacceptable.

Allison Kerry

"You'll lead the Serial Killer Task Force," Grissom announced when she had gone to his office that morning.

"What about Tapp?"

Grissom let out a throaty scoff. "Tapp is out."

She blinked, not registering. "On leave?"

"Permanently. He's being forced to retire."

"Grissom, it's Tapp."

"I know damn well who it is," her supervisor glared up at her, looking exhausted. "He violated protocol, broke in without a warrant, and got Sing killed. And he's been unhinged since. I'm not happy making this call, but it needed to be done. He has been in long enough for his pension. We'll still give it to him. But he's no longer got a badge or a gun."

"Yeah, right," Allison put a hand on her hip. "You think you'll stop him?"

"Doesn't matter what I think he'll do, I just know he's not going to stain our reputation with whatever he does."

"Since when did you give a damn about reputation?"

"Since the mayor and the media have been up my ass about catching this goddamn Jigsaw Killer." Grissom slammed his fist on the desk. "So it's on you, Kerry. Catch him. I want results, ASAP." She left the office before Grissom threw a chair.

She had never seen Grissom so worked up. But she understood.

Everyone had thought the world of Steven Sing.

He used to swing by my office every morning, often to tease her on the latest football updates. She was a Ravens fan and he a dirty Steelers fan.

Her eyes watered at the realization there would be no more shit talking sports ever again. It would be too painful. Damn it, Sing.

She went to her office, sighing and needing to talk to someone for comfort.

She took her phone and dialed.

"Hey, Ally," Lindsay's voice always fixed whatever bad mood plagued her.

"Linds," Allison bit her lip, grasping for something to say. "Just got assigned to take Tapp's place."

"Ah, business call then," she could practically hear her rueful smile. "I figured Tapp would have been at least put on admin leave. Jigsaw's been front page for weeks now. You need FBI?"

"Yeah. Whatever you can spare our way."

"Well, I'll need to run it by my supervisor. Not sure if I can fly up there, budget cuts screwing everybody. But if you need to use our databases, I'll be sure to run whatever prints, DNA, or whatever through. Strahm won't be much help, by the way. He's taken leave. He's accumulated so many PTO days, he won't be back in months."

"Yeah, I know Will's gone about the same time. Those love birds."

"Tell me about it. Every time I see them it's like watching a pair of newlyweds. Well, I got to go. Talk to you later, Ally."

"Take care, hon."

Allison knew she would need to get details from Tapp. Looking at her watch, figuring, hell it was five o'clock somewhere, she grabbed her jacket and left work to the nearest liquor store.

She knew Tapp was partial to Hennessy, figuring a permanent retirement warranted the pricey purchase.

She had visited Tapp's apartment once, back when he went through his divorce and needed help moving into it. She noted there was a warning for late rent stuck to his door and her alarm bells began to go off. She knocked, firm.

"Tapp, it's Kerry. Open up, old man, I've got a gift for you."

She counted to ten and pounded the door again. She began to feel antsy. Her immediate thought was Tapp had done something catastrophic to himself and she was about to call in a wellness check on him when the door opened.

"Yeah?" Gravelly voice, like sandpaper on slate. Tapp was in a bathrobe and stale PJs, looking worse than back at Sing's memorial service.

She held out the brown bag. "I'm sorry to hear about your retirement."

He looked at her gift and stepped aside, waving her in.

The place looked like it was at the beginning stage of being uncared for. Tapp was normally a neat, simple guy. But the stacks of pizza boxes and empty beer bottles were expected. The gun resting on the kitchen counter didn't phase her at all either.

"I hope you're the one stepping into the Jigsaw case, then."

She nodded, grimacing, not wanting to bring that up. "Yeah."

"Good. I told Grissom it better be you if he knew what was good for him."

When she stepped into the living room her heart sank. The walls were littered with images. Pictures, red string, and newspaper clippings. It looked like the work of an insane person. And he had begun to write in permanent marker shorthand notes on the bare walls. That'll piss off his landlord.

"What's this, Tapp?"

He flicked his fingers in a 'come hither' gesture and she handed him the bottle. He looked at it, letting out a whistle and a wide grin. "You're a doll, Kerry. Come on, lemme pour you a drink."

"Sure." She took a seat at the bar stool underneath his island counter, waiting as he scrubbed and rinsed out two shot glasses that had been left beside the sink.

Things were going well, so far,

She looked around, taking in the stack of unopened mail with the bold red stamps of OVERDUE on the envelopes next to the blackened cluster of bananas that looked several weeks old.

"You should keep your eyes on that doctor," Tapp handed her a drink.

She raised an eyebrow. "Gordon?"

"Yeah. It's him. Has to be."

"He has an alibi."

"Could have paid the girl off. Or we got the time frame wrong."

But they had established when the victims were missing and where they likely were taken. Gordon's alibi checked out. Solid.

"Did you see Gordon, that night?"

Tapp's glittering eyes dimmed and he bowed his head. "Couldn't get a good look at his face. Just saw a glimpse of his neck. White guy. Old enough to have some sag in the neck. That's all. But I know it's him. And I can help catch him. I may be off the force but I'm still a good pair of hands."

She waited for him to take the first drink and then she followed, wincing at the burning sweetness of the brandy.

"Tapp," she bit her lip and decided to risk it, "I think you should consider hitting the brakes."

"Hm?" The warmth of his smile had cooled. "Is that so?"

"Tapp, I'm here as a friend. Of you and Sing."

Tapp had turned away, shame in his grimace, shoulders raised. She pressed on.

"Tapp, you can't be involved in this case anymore. It's against the rules."

"Damn it, since when did you care about the damn rules?"

She looked down at her fingers clutching the shot class and looked up at him with new resolve. True, she hadn't always been the best example. But Sing had cared about the rules. And once, Tapp had as well. Now that the responsibility of catching Jigsaw was all on her, she had to be a better cop. For Sing and Tap and everyone else who's suffered, I can't let it all be in vain. "You broke in without a warrant. No back up. It's clear you want to catch him. I do too. But you have to step back and let the rest of us take it."

"I can help."

"No," she shook her head, just now realizing that she too blamed Tapp for what happened to Sing, and she looked at this man she had always respected and now saw him as a haggard old shell that wouldn't let things go. Grissom made the right call. Tapp needed to retire. "I'm sorry, Tapp, but it's time to step back. If not for me, then for Sing."

"You - you don't know what Sing would have wanted. None of you knew him, not like me."

"That may be but I'm sure Sing would want you to not get in any more trouble than you are already."

He scoffed and turned. "Maybe you should go, Kerry. But know that I'll stop Jigsaw, one way or the other. With or without your help. You all think Gordon's not involved. But he is."

She knew they were both grieving, in their own way. But she felt anger, then, hot and in control of her tongue. "You seriously think you can take this all on by yourself? You never listen, Tapp. Not to me or Sing. And that's what's getting us all killed."

She stormed out, slamming the door behind her, hot tears burning her cheeks.