CONVERSATIONS

Chapter 1

"Horatio?"

His brain scrabbled to recognise the voice, even as he stopped walking and turned. "Cecile!"

The tall elegant woman reached him. "I thought it was you. Can't mistake that hair."

"I can't be the only redhead in Miami…" He smiled at the woman who had, until six months ago, been his psychiatrist.

"How have you been?" she asked.

"Fine… Well, up until a couple of weeks ago." He gestured ruefully at their surroundings – the entrance of Dade Memorial Hospital.

"Are you not well? Or did you get hurt?"

"Both really." He took her arm, ushering her out of the main thoroughfare, as crowds jostled them. "We can't talk here… Are you coming or going?"

"Going… I had to do a private consultation here this morning. I was just going to get some lunch. Would you like to join me?"

He hesitated. He ought to feel uncomfortable, knowing just how much of himself he had revealed to her, yet Cecile Fournier had always made him feel very comfortable. "Okay."

"You like Cuban?"

"I have to like Cuban. My brother-in-law's Cuban."

"The Versailles then?"

"God, I haven't been there for ages. You feel hungry then?" He smiled. The place was renowned for large portions.

"Oh, there's nothing wrong with my appetite. And I like the atmosphere."

"Okay. See you there."

They sat opposite each other, in a slightly awkward silence.

Cecile broke it. "I've never seen you dressed like that… Never in anything other than a beautiful Italian suit."

"I'm off work. Back tomorrow." He excused his denims and black tee-shirt.

"It suits you."

"You look… as elegant as ever."

"Why, thank you, Sir." She smiled at him. "You know, if I ask you things, I'm not trying to analyse you…"

"And I'll try not to interrogate you."

"Occupational hazards." They both laughed. "So what happened to you?"

"Oh, silly thing really… Do you remember I said I'd been shot… about a year ago?"

She nodded.

"A stray fragment got left behind… A couple of weeks ago, it decided to migrate and pierced my gut in the process…"

"How painful!"

"Not particularly painful, but it laid me out. From fully functional to flat on my back in hospital, in under twenty-four hours."

"Infection?"

"Yep, but I'm okay. I've just had the stitches out."

"Poor you. I thought you looked… a little wan…"

He shrugged, dismissing the subject. "What about you? Are you busy?"

"Very. And trying not to be. I intended to retire, as you know, but they won't let me." She watched him for a minute, then sat back as their food was served.

They ate in silence for a while, then Cecile asked, "So how is your brother-in-law?"

He smiled. "Eric? He's fine. Been nursemaiding me, which I could do without…"

"Horatio… Ever the lone warrior, eh?"

He raised his eyebrows.

"Well, you are. It's hardly confidential information."

"I suppose not. I hate being molly-coddled, but I have to admit I needed it this time… Just didn't shake it off that quickly. Getting old, I suppose. And Eric's been brilliant. He also took quite a difficult case off me. And solved it."

"The beach girls? I read the papers…"

"Yes."

"Now that guy sounds like a real case study… If what I've read is true," she added quickly.

"Just another thug. They come in all shapes and sizes."

She nodded. "So your team… All still with you?"

"Yes, all still there." His face clouded suddenly.

"What?"

"Oh… I took on a new person… not new to CSI, but new to me - from a different shift… Very keen, impressive skills… And she turned on us. This is confidential," he added quickly.

"Of course."

"She was working for a crooked lawyer… Tampered with evidence. Nearly took us all down."

"It's sorted now?"

"I think so." He sighed. "But it was… unpleasant."

"I can imagine. So… I have to ask… Six months ago - you left me rather abruptly…"

"I didn't mean to."

"I know. Is it… all okay now?"

"I've stopped beating up suspects, if that's what you mean. I'm sleeping without pharmaceutical help…"

"And the depression?"

"Are you sure you're not analysing me?"

"I'm asking as… a friend, I hope."

"Is my life all sweetness and light? No. Do I see anything other than a descent towards lonely retirement? No. Has anyone died recently? No. Am I depressed? I really don't know." He flushed. "Sorry – I don't know where that came from."

"Horatio… I'm sorry…" She reached across to put her hand over his. "My very last thought was to upset you."

"I'm not upset. But you ask me if I'm depressed. I tell you, Cecile, it's sometimes difficult to be anything else."

"You've just been hospitalized. I assume you had a general anesthetic. You know this sort of feeling is sometimes a result of that."

"Maybe."

"I think we should talk some more."

"Professionally?"

She shrugged. "Possibly. Would it hurt? A couple of sessions?" She went back to her food. "Sorry – this was supposed to be a pleasant lunch for two friends. Perhaps I was analysing you."

He smiled ruefully. "As you said – occupational hazard. So… tell me what you've been doing."

"Me? Well, I spent a month in New York. Interesting project for the NYPD."

"Really? I used to work for them."

She chuckled. "I know. I haven't forgotten you."

"What was the project? Can you tell me?"

"It was a bit of a departure for me – I'm not sure if I achieved very much. I can tell you in general terms. They were getting a large number of accusations of racial bias, gender bias, you name it…"

"From within? Or from outside – the public?"

"Oh, from outside. From what I saw, I don't think anyone could accuse the force itself of bias."

"It never was. I had a black boss. I had a female boss, for a short time…"

"It's a universal problem with suspects, I imagine. If Hispanics carry out a high proportion of crime in an area, for example, who are the police going to go after when a crime occurs? Is it true here?"

"Less so, I think… Miami's such a melting pot… " He thought for a moment. "Although… there are Cuban communities, Haitian communities… so crimes within those communities tend to throw up their own suspects. And often the communities deal with things themselves. If we do have to go in, it takes a certain amount of diplomacy. Perhaps New York's actually more integrated."

"Or less diplomatic. I don't know. It seemed odd to me that there would be bias, when the force itself is such a mixed bunch."

"And was there?"

"Some. From a minority of officers. There was also a huge amount of 'awareness' – for want of a better word – from some sections of the community. Awareness of what they could accuse the police of, and what the consequences would be."

"Wasn't like that in my day… People were often ready to help the police. And I think they saw the police as fair." He chuckled. "If a bit… heavy-handed, on occasions. I'm sure it was easier then… Too many trouble-making lawyers about now."

Cecile smiled. "That's very much what I concluded. All I could do really, was analyse the complaints and give guidelines. You can't hamstring a police officer to the point where he can't do his job."

"No, you can't. And a police officer shouldn't have to be diplomat or social worker… Though he's frequently both."

"I think it must be one of the toughest jobs around."

"Rewarding though." He said it automatically.

"Still?"

He smiled half-heartedly. "Me? I think so. Anyway, Cecile, what else do I know how to do?"

"You seem sad…"

"I'm not really. I've been off work. It doesn't suit me."

They sat in silence, drinking coffee. At last, Cecile said, "I must go. It's been lovely to see you again." She hesitated. "Do you still have my number?"

TBC