Chapter 4

Horatio had taken extra care with his grooming that morning. He arrived at the Beeks' home wearing a somber black jacket and a black and white striped shirt. The night before he had stopped at the barber's to shear off half an inch on the locks. In spite of his forty-five years he had a tendency to appear boyish when his forelock hung into his eyes and the wisps in back curled around his ears. It wouldn't do to look immature for this occasion.

On the way, he found himself looking for the words he would use. Although, after all of these years he hardly needed to rehearse the right words or attitude, he still did. Each case was different. Of course everything would be subject to change the moment he arrived and most certainly there was no telling what tact he would use as he drew information out of the widow. This was a murder case with no clues as to who had done it or why and he had to find as much as possible.

When he had checked the address, for some reason he wasn't too surprised to find it was one of those on the other side of the canal where he hadn't visited. Instead of fences and gates the homes here looked much like any suburban homes, set side by side, neatly manicured lawns in front, garage attached to two stories. Both the stately king and queen palm trees waved gracefully even in the slightest breeze. This was, of course, a great joy to the home and auto insurance companies since the fallen fronds and broken trees could cause all sorts of damage to property in the many storms and few people parked their cars in their garages which were used for storage. But then, this was a status symbol, a mark that the homeowner could afford these bothersome details. He also knew that the backs of these homes were not ordinary. Instead, each held piers for expensive boats. Of course the question as to whether Beeks had simply fallen off his pier, blown by a gust of wind while trying to secure some equipment came to mind. Time and questioning would tell.

Parking the hummer in front of the house, Horatio stepped over a palm frond no doubt blown across the walkway by the storm. Most of the branches and leaves in the other yards had been picked up. This house looked oddly undisturbed from the wind's destruction. Perhaps it was the husband's job to do the yard work.

Walking to the front door, he also took note of a rental truck backed into the driveway and a pair of women carrying a cardboard carton into it. One was older than the other, both a tad overweight and showing a pale blond resemblance. Tramping back down the truck ramp, they glanced at him and walked around to the rear of the house.

Although being greeted at the Beeks' front door by an officer in pristine summer dress whites was unexpected, it wasn't a surprise. These bearers of bad news stayed for as long as seemed necessary for the bereaved. Usually, however, he would have expected a member or friend of the family. Also unexpected was that the officer stepped forward and closed the door behind him.

"Lieutenant Caine, I took the call about your arrival and to say the least I'm glad you're here. We got here about an hour ago and I don't think I have ever seen a family react quite like this."

"Meaning?"

"We had just told Ms. Beeks the news and she immediately picked up the phone to tell her family. This isn't out of the ordinary but then twenty minutes later her mother and father and a sister showed up with that truck. After telling Ms. Beeks they would take care of things they started removing household goods from the home. The father is in the garage in back sorting out tools." The officer's gold aviator wings insignia flashed in the bright sun.

"And how is she now?"

"She's broken up like you'd expect a new widow to be, prostrate on the couch. Her son is by her holding her hand. We have been trying to explain what her next step should be, who to contact for officer's widow's benefits but I'm not sure we're getting through. We're used to that, just not this other stuff."

"And now I'm here to add to the mix."

The middle aged man with a slight paunch looked apologetic. "We'll be done shortly. It isn't our business how the family deals with grief, just to see that there is help around. We've asked about friends or neighbors and she just closes her eyes."

"I'll tell you what. While you take care of what you have to do with her, I'll go knock on some doors on the street. Someone might have seen something the night of the storm. At the very least, I can let people know what happened."

"Give us another half hour or so?"

"Here's my cell number. If you need to leave before I return, call me."

While copying Horatio's number into his phone the officer replied, "Fine, I'm Commander Parra. Captain Whitehead is inside."

Just as Commander Parra was about to close the door, Horatio turned and called out. "Excuse me. I do have one more question. If Beeks was stationed in Jacksonville, why did he live here in Miami?"

A quick frown passed over Parra's face before he spoke. "It's not unheard of for Navy flight officers to commute to their jobs by air. As I understand it, he had a nice little Cessna 350. He could get to the base in a little over an hour of flight time; that's no worse than many commutes and less of a hassle."

"I see, thank you."

A few minutes later, he was being greeted at the first door he knocked on by a man in baggy shorts and t-shirt with a day's growth of beard. He declared his name to be Soza. Leaning against the door jam and holding the door close to his body, he listened without expression as Horatio explained his mission. A moment later, he turned his head and shouted, "Hey, guess what? Beeks is dead. We got a cop here askin' if we seen last night."

A distant female voice replied, "What time?"

"Late, maybe midnight or so," the man relayed.

"Wasn't that when the storm started?"

Horatio tired of a translation and asked to talk to the man's wife at the same time. Apparently this broke the line of communication. When the thin woman with uncombed dark hair appeared, the only other thing either had to reveal was that the last that Soza had seen of Beeks was in the evening in another neighbor's garage where they practiced mixed martial arts as they had done on Thursdays for well over two years.

Asking who else was involved and only being directed to another house nearby, Horatio thanked the couple and moved on to Zambreckski's house which was two down on the other side of the Beeks home. Walking in the warming morning, Horatio considered that there was something in Soza's reaction when told of Beeks' death that said there was no great sorrow at the news. It might be nothing but he would remember to ask further questions later.

"Found the body down the canal?" The thickly set nearly bald man asked jovially. He lifted his head to indicate the area in back of his home. "And Jaime told you to come to me? He would. He expects me to be the town crier all the time like he doesn't have a mouth on him. Okay, yeah, we all get together on Thursdays along with three others and Beeks' son. It's half practice and half bull session. It's just a way to get out and away from the women. I have the garage set up as a kind of training center. I learned mine as a SEAL when I was in San Diego. I don't get too formal with these guys though. So, you say Beeks got killed? Any idea how?"

"We're not at liberty to say right now. We're in the process of investigation."

"Well, investigate away. I'll tell you one thing. Nobody thought much of that bastard."

"How so?"

"He thought the world owed him a living because he was a Navy officer. I used to tell him he was a special program flyboy not an Annapolis grad but that just pissed him off. I learned to keep off the subject. I heard that when he went out on any evening occasion he'd go without reservations and expect top drawer service just because he flashed his Navy I.D. Now, remember, this guy never saw a desert much less Iran or Afghanistan so why he thought he deserved so much I don't know."

"Did he ever talk about what his job was?"

"As far as I could figure, he just carried cargo in helos out to flat tops and back. Maybe there was more, I don't know. I just know he never saw action."

"Do you think anyone held that against him?"

"If they did, I didn't hear it. I mean, we all thought he was a son-of-a-bitch for his attitude and he sure couldn't hold his liquor worth a damn, not even beer. Soza had to direct him home most Thursday nights after we were done. Still, I don't think anyone thought he was worth the time or effort to kill."

"Where do the other three men live?"

Zambreckski scratched the back of his head. "I think one lives over in Little Havana and one by Miami Shores. The other, I'm just not sure. I do have their phone numbers though."

A moment later, the man came back to the door and read off the names and the numbers for Horatio to copy. Phone still in his hand while thanking the big man for his cooperation, it rang. He quickly excused himself and walked to the Beeks' home.

Commander Parra was waiting at the front door. "She is in a delicate state, as you can imagine. I'll introduce you."

"Good, thank you."

The living room though filled with light seemed somber with the woman lying stretched out on the overstuffed couch. A young man, perhaps sixteen or so sat on a chair by her head. The two of them wrung their hands, mirroring each other's movements.

"Ms. Beeks, Junior, this is Lieutenant Caine. He is the police officer that wants to ask you questions."

"What? Why?" The pale figure asked faintly.

"Momma, remember, Commander Parra told us already? They think Dad was killed by somebody."

The blond woman with short cut hair raised her fleshy hand to cover her eyes as she snarled a sob.

"Officer, can't this wait to tomorrow? My mom is really taking this hard."

"I wish I could son, but time is of the essence."

A voice came from another room. "Hey Shirl, are you going to need this turkey carving set? I mean with Michael not going to carve anymore and all…"

Her face suddenly tearless and her voice strong, Shirley Beeks called out, "I don't guess so Mama. You can also start packing up the formal dinnerware. That is, if you want it."

"Want it? Hell yes we'd love it. Come on Judy let's get to clearing out the pantry."

Making his way to the front door with Captain Whitehead, Commander Parra said uncertainly, "We have to leave now Ms. Beeks. Please give us a call later. Use these numbers when you need anything." He laid a pamphlet on a table by the front door.

Her voice suddenly weak again, Ms. Beeks whispered, "Oh, thank you. You have been so nice about this. I just don't know what my family or I will do without him now."

"We'll find our way out, ma'am. You take care."

The officers walked out and closed the door gently behind them. A moment later, the black escalade outside roared into life and there was a slight squeak of tires as they sped off to their orderly military life.

Taking a chair from the dining room, Horatio sat down so he could face the grieving widow. "First, I offer you my sincerest condolences on your loss."

"Thank you." The woman looked at him for the first time and then gave him another quick look. Then, hand replaced over her eyes, she sighed and whimpered, "Oh my poor dear Michael."

"Unfortunately, I have to ask some important questions. We believe his death was a homicide. I am a criminalist and we already have some evidence to this effect but nothing to indicate who or why."

"Well, I sure don't know," the woman answered with a slight petulance in her voice.

"Was there anyone who held a grudge against him?"

"Everyone thought my Michael was a wonderful man. They admired and respected him, even envied him his success."

"Envied?"

"Well, except for that Jaime Soza two doors down. He acts like being a Navy officer is nothing. Once, we invited him and his wife out for dinner at a really nice place. Well, the place almost wouldn't seat us even though Michael showed his military I.D. Can you imagine? They said we had to have reservations. Michael had to raise his voice and suddenly they found a table. Jaime kept making silly remarks about how easy it would have been to pick up a phone to call ahead. Michael put him in his place when he reminded him that the country owes a great deal to the men in service to their country."

"He hasn't really let Dad forget about it either," Junior put in. "Almost every Thursday, he makes some stupid comment, wondering why Dad isn't practicing in his khakis or even his dress whites or something."

The woman hid her face again grasping at the handkerchief Horatio offered. "What am I going to do? I'm too young to be a widow."

"Ma'am, just a few more questions and I will leave you alone for the moment."

"Call me Shirley, please."

"Alright, Shirley, can you tell me why you lived here in Miami if your husband was stationed at the naval air station in Jacksonville three hundred and fifty miles north of here?"

"My family lives here in Miami. We're very close. So when Michael could afford a plane, he said we could live here."

Junior spoke in a tone used when chiding a child, "Mom, his business was here too.

"Did he come home every day?"

"No, he'd come on Thursday afternoon."

Junior added, "That was so he could practice with us all at Mr. Zambreckski's house. Then, to make up for it, he'd fly back on Saturday evening unless I had a MMA competition. Then he took off early Sunday morning."

They were interrupted by an elderly man. "Hey Junior, your dad ever have a cart or anything? I'm getting tired toting heavy boxes of tools into the truck."

"Yeah, but can't it wait Grampa? I'm kind'a busy here."

"We only can afford the truck for a day. We still have to unload all the stuff at our place before the rental place closes at six tonight. Now get a move on."

Obviously the boy was of mixed thoughts and didn't know how to make a solid decision in a case like this.

Horatio rose and, smiling, advanced on the older gentleman. "My name is Lieutenant Horatio Caine." He flashed his badge and I.D. card.

The man's grizzled chin went back a couple of inches as his brows scrunched over his nose. He stuck out his hand in a manner that spoke more of manners than friendliness. "Pete Waverly, Shirley's father."

Ignoring the grimy proffered hand, he said, "I have some business with your daughter and I think Michael Junior would be a great deal of help. It will take a few minutes. As soon as I'm finished, I'll send him out to help you."

"Well, I don't know. I kind of wanted to get this done. Michael had some great stuff and I'm afraid someone else might try to get their hands on it if I don't get it out of here double quick."

Horatio leaned forward quickly and whispered into Pete's ear, "I'll send him out when I'm done." He ground out the last word before pulling back with his face set hard.

His chin working back as forth as teeth ground, the elder man walked hurriedly to the kitchen with his shoulders raised high and his elbows flinging to the back with every step. Horatio couldn't hear the words in the other room, but from the tone and the cadence, he guessed he was being thoroughly cussed out to the man's wife and second daughter. That had not been the first time to happen.

Returning to the living room, the tableau was nearly the same as when he had first entered. The only change was that Shirley was holding the handkerchief to her face, lightly so she could breathe, with one hand extended so her son could hold it while he murmured reassurances.

Taking a seat again, Horatio composed himself. "Where did your husband live when he was at work at Jacksonville?"

Shirley jiggled her hand and Junior automatically spoke for her. "He lived in the bachelor's barracks on the base. He said it was so bad to live there it made him want to get home as soon as he could."

"What kind of aircraft did Lieutenant-Commander Beeks fly on duty?"

Junior's face was filled with pride as he said, "The Sea Hawk."

Seeing an inquiring look on Horatio's face, the dark haired teen continued, "That's a monster helicopter that's used in all kinds of operations from carrying heavy cargo to doing sea rescues."

"Shirley, do you socialize at all with the officers or wives in the squadron?"

Removing the cloth from her face and searching the ceiling for the meaning of the words, she finally replied, "Oh, no. My family is the most important thing in the world to me. I mean, those people would be gone out of our lives when he is…would be transferred." Another whimper and the handkerchief was put over her face again.

Horatio persevered through the barrier. "Besides meeting with his friends at Mr. Zambreckski's home for martial arts practice, did your husband socialize with anyone while here at home? Did he go out at night?"

The handkerchief revealed a slight frown on the round face. "He didn't go out to bars if that's what you are insinuating."

Horatio waited for the rest of it.

She pushed herself up to a seated position and opened her arms to motion her son beside her. Once he was firmly in her grasp, she turned her gray blue eyes to the CSI and said firmly. "Aside from his Navy work the only other thing he did was deal with his father's business. He inherited it and had to run it all by himself. He has managers but he always felt responsible. I mean, after all, how could he keep a family of seven going on Navy pay?"

"Excuse me? A family of seven did you say?"

"Me and Junior, my two sisters and my father and my mother."

Horatio had no idea what to say to that so he inquired, "What business was this?"

"Import and Export."

"And the name?"

"Beeks and Son, Limited."

"I see. Thank you for talking with me. I will probably have to talk to you again."

"What about?" Shirley's voice took on a shrill edge.

"I don't know yet but further questioning is almost inevitable in a murder case."

Spreading her legs wide to give her body a good base to stand upon, Shirley heaved herself up. "Well, I hope you can do your job without putting me through too much more than you have. This was really hard on me."

Horatio stood and said, "I understand ma'am. We're trying to get as much information as possible so we can find the person who killed your husband."

Her face went blank again and then she slowly sorted out the information. "Oh, okay…I guess."

Junior, still on the settee, gave Horatio a quick, almost adult nod of reassurance.

Turning, Horatio caught sight of two figures, Shirley's parents, standing at the doorway to the kitchen.

As if his look had motioned them to come forward, they walked to the living room. Shirley snuggled into her mother's open arms. Without a glance to Horatio, Peter nodded his head sideways to Junior and said, "C'mon boy. We got some toting to do."

As much as Horatio wanted to caution making decisions about anything too early, he remained silent. Running other people's lives wasn't his job except when it became necessary.