Chapter 3

Calleigh carefully parked the police humvee against the curb. She could have just as well left it in the middle of the street behind the rest of the black and whites sitting at all angles. It just didn't seem right to her to do that, however, so she made sure she was within the marked spaces for parking against the side of the road before climbing out. For being about five foot, three inches tall, that was no easy task. Long experience and a confidence beyond her height and weight, made it appear easy.

After getting her forensics kit from the back of the especially equipped vehicle, she strolled across the street, taking in every bit of the scene; the milling uniformed officers, the plain clothed detectives, standing in front of a nightclub, the blaring neon sign declaring Freddy's Firewater Stand which was losing its battle with the rising morning sun, and more. Even though the crime scene was inside the building, she knew the wisdom of taking in as much of the perimeter as possible. Most especially, she observed the crowd of curiosity seekers. People who committed crimes most often came back to observe the havoc they had created.

Nodding familiarly to most of the unis and plain clothes, flashing her badge on her hip when challenged, the blond wended her way through the open door and into the gloom of the club inside. There, even with all of the lights up, most of the corners barely emerged from deep shadows. She could imagine the club at full tilt at night, the on and off, dark to bright strobes that added to a thunderous beat. The dim quiet of the grisly murder scene was a lullaby in comparison to what was used to urge crowds to a drinking-spending frenzy.

A squealing, raspy voice was wailing over the low hum of investigators who were asking questions of several witnesses, still in shock from the events.

"Closed! Tonight? No way! I got two big parties booked. I'll lose fifty grand! You can't do this."

Calleigh walked towards the shouting. She knew that the object of the wrath had to be Detective Frank Tripp.

"Hey, Frank! What's up?"

The six foot six inch Texan turned without so much as the bat of an eyelash from his attacker. "Hey, Calleigh. In spite of this guy's protests, the 'party' happened last night. Three men came in about ten in the evening and started shooting. Seems the targets were armed and shot back. Then, as far as we can figure, others in the place took objection to having bullets flying around and brought out their own weapons. The long and the short of it is four dead, six more injured and eight arrested for carrying concealed weapons."

"It's not my fault! I've never had anything like this happen in any of my places!"

Frank gave a glance to the light haired, pasty faced man. "Like hell! I remember you from six years ago. You had a place in Little Havana. Two men shot as I remember. I can hardly wait to see your rap sheet now!"

Turning his back to the silenced man, Frank raised his hands to his belt line. "While you figure out who shot what at who and where, I'll throw this one into a patrol car and then see what I can get out of the staff."

Calleigh grinned partly at the private twinkle for her in Frank's eye and partly at the prospect of dealing with guns, bullets, and trajectories. Throwing a twinkle of her own at Frank, she then turned on her well shod heel as well as turning on her CSI mode.

Surveying the scene, she started blocking out what to do first. The bodies were still in place so those had to be photographed. A thought struck her.

"Frank! Is there anyone out there with a large pad and a pencil or pen? I need a rough sketch of the place with all the bodies and furniture and all before Loman gets here."

She knew she could do the sketching herself but this would help get the basic job done much faster.

Ten minutes later a young police officer armed with a large sketch pad introduced herself. "This will put my training to better use than what I've been doing lately. It seems like most of my duties have been just sketching out minor traffic accident scenes."

The young woman's cheerfulness at being able to use her talent for something else faded after the second bloody body. Calleigh could only hope that this experience with the bodies in the nightclub would prepare the rookie for her first truly horrific traffic scene. Her own memories of first arrival on the scene of a bloody car crash as a patrol officer still haunted her dreams.

As luck would have it, just as Calleigh and the officer were comparing the sketch to the scene and deciding they were done, Tom Loman arrived.

"I have two buses out there. Please don't tell me there are more than four bodies." His quietly patient, yet impatient voice carried its usual note of urgency.

"Not only are there four bodies but they're ready to go, Tom."

Ignoring Calleigh's bright grin, the M.E. hurriedly waved to two pairs of assistants with gurneys. "Keep the gurneys at the entrance men. Just bring the bags. There is far too much in the way and we don't have time to rearrange furniture to clear a path." Somehow his tone made the task sound very important.

With the bodies gone and the officer thanked and dismissed to attend to her assigned police duties, Calleigh settled in to find where bullets that hadn't found human targets had gone. Not only would the sources (the size of the guns) be identified but also the paths the carriers of the guns (a timeline). She knew she would get the witness' accounts but those were notoriously out of line with the truth and usually of little help. All she could hope to get from what the people said they had seen was a general idea of where the shooters had entered. Everything after that (who had shot whom) would have to be proven forensically.

Calleigh's lips spread into a small smile because she knew that this is where her work would shine; not only in terms of her career credits, but also in terms of nailing the prison door shut on the men who had come in to this nightclub and without regard for innocent people had fired their guns. Before she was done, not only would she know what gun shot each victim, but in what order the shots were fired. This was not only her favorite work but the kind she was best at. She hadn't been called Bullet Girl for most of her working life for nothing.

Horatio found Calleigh the next afternoon huddled in front of a computer screen.

He whispered, "You called?"

Turning as if she'd seen him coming from behind she said, "I did."

As quietly as Horatio moved, he never could surprise Calleigh no matter how deeply involved in her work she had become.

Then, smiling her brightest self-pleased grin, she said, "I did. I have set up the trajectory patterns of all of the guns used in the nightclub homicide."

"And?"

"Well, it's all pretty straight forward except one death doesn't make sense in terms of all of the other guns and the witness accounts."

Horatio leaned over the table beside Calleigh closely examining the screen. "How so?"

"Here, let me put it up on the big projection." Calleigh pushed a couple of keys and the nearly invisible screen on the wall of the lab lit up duplicating what she had on the smaller computer. "OK, three men with guns entered the club about ten o'clock. The club isn't too crowded so they have a clear line of view from the door to the bar. They started firing at a group of four men sitting at the far end of the bar. I marked those first shots in green regardless of the make of the gun."

The layout of the nightclub appeared on the screen in dull gray showing where the tables, booths and bar were located. A group of green lines from a tight spray toward the far end of the bar appeared.

"Two of those men at the bar had guns and returned fire and I marked them in yellow."

Several yellow lines sprayed out from the far end of the bar.

The three original shooters took cover using some of the tables and then the patrons for shields. One of the three was hit and fell to the floor." A computer generated figure of a man in light blue appeared in a prone position.

"Meanwhile, a patron grabbed the gun from the injured man and started firing both at the two still standing and also at the four at the bar. I marked that path in blue-green."

Several blue green paths joined one of the green origin patterns.

"Two patrons were injured, one from the bar side and the other from the shooter side and then one other was killed from the shooter side. Another two patrons had guns of their own and they started firing which I marked in red, injuring two more patrons. They were hit in the arm and the leg, respectively."

Red paths showed up as well as two more bodies in light blue and one in orange.

"Of the four target men at the bar, two were killed and one was injured, hit in the lower arm. One of the dead ones was by the original shooters and the other was from one of the armed patrons."

Two more orange figures showed behind the bar as well as a blue one. The bullet path was clearly shown from target to origin.

"The other injured one was by the one who took the shooter's gun. The targets, as you can see, had taken cover behind the bar and fired out from there. The three shooters fired from within twenty feet of the entry and forward towards the bar in a fan."

Horatio took a minute to examine the scene and saw exactly what Calleigh knew he would pick up on. "Body number four; the bullet path that you marked in white doesn't coincide with the rest of the source locations. Why is that?"

"That's what I can't figure yet. From the bullet hole in the victim, the gun was a small caliber of some sort It was shot from the hall that goes to the offices, bathrooms and back exit. It goes back into the club. I have to wait for Tom to find the bullet. Victim was Sean Van Meer, twenty-five, no record except for minor traffic violations."

"Yes," whispered the redhead. He turned sideways and spread his legs. "I know the name. He's one of many trust fund babies we have here in Miami."

"I still need a few hours but I think I have the other shootings pretty well nailed down. Most of the shooters have records as long as our hallways. Frank says the incident was gang based."

Horatio's brow knotted in annoyance. "Which makes less sense of young Van Meer's death. These trust kids don't do anything that would ruin their plush lives. They're no angels but they don't get into gangs and the only hard drugs they get are what their daddies get for them to keep them in line."

"Papa Van Meer is going to want some answers, I bet."

Green eyes met blue in perfect understanding. "I'll go back right now before they release the crime scene. Maybe I can find something else in that passage to the offices."

Horatio's stance widened as he raised his hands, swept the skirts of his jacket back and planted his fists behind his badge, parked at his waist, and his gun on the other side. "Good. Keep in touch." This last he said to Calleigh's back as she marched quick step down the lab hallway.

Before his second in command was out of sight, Horatio pulled his cell out of his jacket pocket and punched it. "Mr. Wolfe, what can you tell me about our dead girl found in the Everglades Park yesterday?"

Ryan Wolfe, experienced as he was, was unsettled about this case. He didn't know why but it just gave him a bad feeling. When Horatio called him, nearly twenty-four hours after the body at the bottom of the observation tower had been found, it was hard to even say he didn't have any answers. It wasn't that he was afraid he would be considered slacking in his duties. Sometimes, no matter how diligent an investigator was, clues were not forthcoming at first. To find nothing in a mere day's time wasn't all that unusual. This time, he knew that wasn't the entire answer.

"Wolfe?"

Horatio's voice broke through the sweaty feeling in the young investigator's mind and kicked it into gear. "Uh, yeah, I'm here, Horatio. Her name is Thalia Duda. She actually had a good reason to be at the observation tower. She's a third year zoology student at Florida State. According to her mother, she was taking a course that dealt with night predators in the everglades. I guess she found one."

"Ryan, you sound hesitant on this. Is there something bothering you?" Horatio's voice dropped to an intimate whisper.

The hesitation before the answer was obvious. "Yeah, but I can't figure out what it is."

"Any ideas of how she wound up at the foot of the tower?"

"It looked to me like she went over backwards. Tom says he could find no evidence that she was pushed; I already asked. He did find some odd scrape marks on her back though."

"Odd, like how?"

"He says he isn't sure yet. He wants to run a couple of tests. He did say I should look at the guard rail around the platform."

"You would think that if she was leaning over, trying to get a better look at something out in the glades, she'd be marked on her stomach. How would she get marks on her back unless she was leaning against the railing, looking up at the sky?"

"I don't think that was it. She was leaning back for some other reason."

"What else is putting you on your guard about this?"

"Tire treads."

The words made the hairs on the back of Horatio's neck stand up.

"H, they are the kind of tires police patrol cars use. I could be wrong…" Having been a patrolman, he didn't think he was.

Horatio, his mind racing to find ways to discover another kind of culprit, said, "You know what? I want you to take Dr. Brandt, the forensic psychologist out there. We've got another case involving something suspicious about tire treads and a girl fallen from a tall structure. She might see something or be able to add to what you have so you can get to a conclusion quicker."

After the slightest hesitation, Wolfe replied, "Alright. I'll give her a call."

Horatio recognized the tightness in Wolfe's voice as coming from the usual police antipathy towards shrinks in any form. The rest of the team had accepted Sally after only a minor bit of unrest but Wolfe wasn't quite there yet.

After twenty minutes of uncomfortable silence in the CSI car with Wolfe, Sally stretched her small frame prodigiously and let out a loud yawn. "Man! It feels good to get out of that architectural nightmare!"

Ryan looked over at his companion. "You mean the lab?"

"Oh yeah! I guess I'd feel the same even if the thing didn't look like a listing ship on the outside and the interior of Darth Vader's helmet on the inside. I'm not an office geek. I like to get outside, get my hands dirty, look at the blood and guts, and figure out what kind of idiot might have spread them around where they shouldn't be."

"Don't you like rearranging the furniture inside of people's heads?"

"Not my department, bub. I'm forensics, just like you. The closest I get to that is figuring out why the furniture got scrambled from the upbringing the head had in the first place. No, I shine at the crime scene, looking at how the murderer made the scene the way it was and figuring out what could cause a person to do it in just that way. Then I tell you what kind of person to look for. Didn't you know that?"

Sally knew damned well Wolfe had not the least idea of what her job was about.

"Well, yeah, I did. I just thought you did most of the work by graphs and statistics and all."

"You're closer to that line of work than I am. You have to cart all the evidence back to the lab, run tests, make comparisons, look up information and all. Am I right?"

The youthful looked dark haired man smiled and nodded. "Yeah, that's right. And you don't?"

"Oh, when it comes to testifying in court I have to get all fancy and spout off statistics from this study and that. Once I had to do a couple of graphs for some studies where the results were too complicated to expect a jury to remember. For the most part, however, my testimony is taken as 'expert'. There is no hard proof when it comes to how the mind works. And yeah, I have to read up on studies all time, just like you."

"Yeah, homework, conferences, papers."

"You got that right! Ordinarily, however, most of my work has to be outside; it's just that I'm so good at what I do, they have me doing some office work as well and I am really glad when I can get out of it."

Suddenly Sally pointed. "Oh, look! Over at the side of the road. Blue herons mating!"

A bright blue-gray long legged bird with a long neck was mounting a brownish gray bird of the same build that was slightly bent forward. Not paying attention to the speeding vehicle, the male jumped on and off the presenting female several times.

Sally leaned back with a wicked grin. "Nature! Man or beast! Ain't it wunnerful?"

Wolfe grinned again and cocked an eyebrow at his passenger. "Uh, has anyone ever told you, you are the least bit peculiar?"

By the time they reached the crime scene, CSI Wolfe and Dr Brandt were making each other blush telling dirty jokes.

Horatio was surprised to find Dr. Loman out of his usual venue of the morgue in the basement and in a room in the lab. He was almost shocked to find the man posturing over a bendy-doll as if making love to it. The anatomically correct female doll was bent over backwards, the central lumbar section against a section of four by four railing set between a couple of supports.

"Doctor?"

As if caught with his hand in the cookie jar, Loman stood erect with a jerk. "Damn! I almost had the perfect position! Don't these doors have locks on them? No, I guess they wouldn't, more's the pity."

A brief survey of the scene told Horatio all he needed to know of what was going on. "I'm presuming you took exact measurements of the guard rail."

Assuming his usual attitude of slight distraction, the Medical Examiner, answered, "And now it's just a matter of figuring out how the bruises on the young woman's back were done. There is no subdural bruising on the front of the chest or shoulder which would show she was forcefully pushed and yet she was obviously on her back, stretched over the railing. There are abrasions and bruisings in an area consistent with forcefully leaning and perhaps rubbed against the wood. I was experimenting with various situations in which she could have fallen in that way without being pushed."

"As I came in, you were practically prone over the bendy-doll, almost as if you were about to kiss it."

Loman raised his considerable height to its full six feet, two inches, and drew in his square chin. "It was a last resort." He paused as if allowing the scene he was caught in to replay itself. "Actually, I may have found the answer with just a little bit of readjustment to the figurine."

Intrigued, Horatio watched the doctor who was more comfortable with blood and stomach contents, move the arms of the often abused life sized figure.

"Now, assuming the murderer was at least our height, Lieutenant Caine, I'm also assuming he was making amorous advances onto the victim. He had her against the rail and she, trying to push away, had bent backwards. He continued to press forward thus forcing her back even more."

It would have been hilarious to see the sandy haired doctor practically lying across the doll if the purpose hadn't been so serious. He didn't look uncomfortable in the least acting like he was making love to it. He kept pressing forward until it was physically impossible without endangering the structure of the figuring entirely. Then he adjusted his position slightly.

"Now, this is purely conjecture, but I'll bet I can find the proof on the body. The man sees he can't subdue the young woman or perhaps something alarms him. Whatever the excuse, he's got her in a helpless position. She is continuing to push against him and so he lowers his right arm to the back of her knees. After that, it's a simple matter of lifting up and allowing her push against him to cause her to fall back."

The doctor acted out his words, tossing the dummy over the three foot long duplicate of the guard rail he had set up. Then he went around and picked up the figurine from the floor and examined the back. "Ah ha! As I thought. I applied chalk to the rail and it has transferred to the doll in nearly the exact marks as on the victim." A gentle smile crossed the doctor's face. "I present you with method to the C.O.D."

Horatio's head tipped to one side as he smiled in return. "Good work, Doctor Loman."

"Now, I'm going to seal the S.O.B.'s fate and find out exactly where he put his hands on her to lift her over."

Handing the bendy to Horatio, Loman strode out of the lab looking for all the world like a conquering hero.

TBC