By the time Horatio comes in, Calleigh has dug out an impressive array of shells. He comments, "Wow. This tree has more lead than wood. You've got nines there, .44s, .22s..." Calleigh adds that there were "over 200 expended projectiles that we couldn't see." I'm going to plead for Sars to run an intervention on this, but I suspect that the grammatically correct way to explain how there were a large quantity of items is to say there are "more than [X number]," as opposed to saying "over [X number]," since the latter implies that a limit is being exceeded, while the former communicates a large, albeit imprecise, number. But I can't find a documented answer in my copy of Fowler's Modern English Usage, my Chicago Manual of Style is at work, and this paragraph is moving far away from the actual events of the show and into another one of my snits about how nice it would be if the writers actually forswore colloquial speech for something a little more literate. So: gun-crazy kid shooting tree, lots of guns, Horatio concluding, "This. Is not target practice. This is training. This is training." He then compliments Calleigh -- I'll say this for Horatio, he is good at giving his subordinates feedback -- and we go to commercial thinking about the perils of a missing kid with access to firearms and extremely good aim.
When we come back from commercials, Horatio has Pete in the box. Pete has evidently been briefed on what Horatio found, and he's wide-eyed as he tells Horatio, "I didn't know he was into that." Rather than take someone who jeopardized his own parole out of concern for his son at his own word, Horatio has to prove that sometimes the system sucks with, "Let's ask your parole officer about that." The parole officer sneers, "All that ammo, the son's probably in training to knock off a chain of markets just like his old man." Ass. The parole officer continues to stay on my bad side by suggesting that Pete prevailed upon Horatio because Jeff stole one of Pete's guns, and Pete wants him found before the gun can be connected to another crime. Pete replies that he doesn't have a gun, and the parole officer snorts, "Right. You just got a hundred bullets in your backyard tree." Maybe he does -- if the guy works, he may not know what's going on with the kid. The parole officer effectively forces Pete into a Scylla-and-Charybdis position: "Unless you're gonna make a case to the board that this contraband is your son's, you're going back inside to serve out the rest of your sentence." So...sell your kid down the river for something he may or may not have been doing, or lie about the contraband to protect him and serve the rest of your sentence. God, this storyline irritates me, and Horatio's smugness about forcing Pete to claim that the pot and the ammo were his is both annoying and repellent. Horatio delivers Pete unto the asshole parole officer for a return visit (duration: 729 days) to the pen, and broods about how Jeff is still out there.