Chapter 7

The next morning, Horatio called the team and Police Detective Frank Tripp into the layout room to discuss the findings of the night before.

Frank's voice clipped his words as he related that he and the uniformed officer had found a Nelson Family/Beaver Cleaver Family combined. "They were ungodly accommodating; running around opening closets, tossing clothes out onto the bed, clearing stuff from under the beds, moving rugs around. I wanted to cuff 'em just to stop them."

"You sound disappointed Frank. Would you have preferred having to strong arm them to open the front door?" Ryan quipped.

Frank glared at Ryan. "When people are as helpful as the Taylor's were I feel like they're directing my attention from where I should be looking. I spend twice as much time looking at places they open and then at other places as well."

"Knowing you Frank, you still looked at twice as many places as less experienced people would." Horatio assured him. Horatio hadn't known the six foot three officer for long but he was well aware of his experience.

Calleigh smiled broadly. "I think Ryan is just disappointed he and I came up empty handed as well. Bittor's family is second generation Basque. He lives with his parents, grandparents, two aunts and an uncle in a large home in Little Cuba. It took us nearly the entire evening to find all the nooks and crannies in the place."

"That was after we spent half an hour refusing offers of tea, coffee, cookies, plates of fruit, even dinner."

Frank shoved his chin at Ryan and grunted. "Live it up kiddo. You'll probably never again hand someone a search warrant and get such a warm reception."

Eric took Horatio's nod as permission to relate their experience with Letitia and her father.

"So we all came home empty handed?" asked Horatio.

Everyone nodded and started examining the floor. They knew what the next question was going to be.

"Any suggestion on our next step?"

Calleigh put on her investigator's face. "I think we have to find the source of the gun. Ballistics show it was never used in in a previous crime so we're cold on that angle. I think we should go back to Ms. Lorento and Teshonda to question if the family knew of any gun trading in their area."

Eric added, "And question Deeshawn's friends more on that angle. If anyone was a hater on him, they'd probably know. To a family's point of view, everyone loved and admired their poor dead relative. The friends were looking out for each other's backs, knew who was after their friend."

Pushing his jacket back and putting his hands on his hips, Horatio quietly said, "I'd like to know why Mr. Odobescu got so anxious when I looked out his kitchen window at the back yard."

Frank pinched his lips while his eyes riveted Horatio. "Do you have probable cause to look back there?"

Horatio raised his sky-blue eyes to meet the slightly gray green ones. "Not yet I don't, but there are ways to look without invading a citizen's property."

"When you find one of those magic doohickies, show it to me. One of those would save me a whole lot of time."

Horatio wrinkled his brows upward. "I'll let you know Frank. Meanwhile, Eric go with Ryan back to the school please. You already have a rapport with the principal. Interview the three friends and see what they can tell you about Letitia or other members. Anything would be helpful. Just remember that, at this age, kids think you have all the information and are trying to trip them up."

Eric nodded at Ryan and they both started to head out.

Calleigh chimed in, "Be straight with them, tell them you have no clue about what they did for fun or who was bothering them. They'll answer straight back at you."

"Calleigh, take Frank and follow up on the gun trading activity in Deeshawn's neighborhood. Start with Ms. Lorento and her daughter and spread out from there. Both of you be careful though. Don't hesitate to call us for backup."

Glancing up at Frank who towered a foot taller, Calleigh's hand fell automatically to the place where her gun would be if she were out on the street. It wasn't there since officers put their weapons in their personal lockers when in the building. Yes, she knew they would call for backup then while waiting for that to show up, if it came to it, they would take action. When dealing with people who had guns out on the streets, who dealt in them illegally, you had to be ready to meet them on their own terms whenever they chose to. You called for backup and took yourself out of direct line of fire and hoped to high heaven that would be enough. If not, then you drew and fired as need be. Using deadly force was no guarantee of a good outcome, only an improvement on the chances.

Horatio continued, "Calleigh, when you are done with this first assignment, I'd like you to go to the Beeks' warehouse and get a shipping list for the imports. I'm interested in the crockery in particular."

After the meeting broke up, Calleigh walked on one side of Horatio and Frank was on the other. "What are you going to be doing, Horatio?"

Horatio's eyebrows bobbed as he said, "I'm going to find us a doohickey."

The words stopped both the six foot three detective and the more diminutive CSI in their tracks. They looked at each other in amazement. It had been a while since Horatio had cracked a joke of any kind. They watched him walk down the hall to the elevator. By the time he had turned around to push the garage button, his face was composed and familiarly serious.

# # #

"Guns? My kids didn't know anything about guns!"

Calleigh smiled patiently at Ms. Lorento's anger. Most parents misunderstand this question and fly off at the handle almost immediately. "I'm sorry, I guess I misspoke, Ms. Lorento. I didn't mean to imply Deshawn wanted to get a gun. It's just that, if he knew someone who had guns, then maybe other kids would know the same kids. If one of those other kids were mad at Deeshawn it's likely they would find a gun through that means. Did Deeshawn ever talk about anyone like that?"

Ms. Lorento's dark skinned face maintained an angry scowl while her hands clutched at each other. "I told you, Deeshawn didn't know anything about any guns."

Calleigh's eyes flicked briefly at Teshonda.

The girl was more than happy to help her mother to understand. "Momma, the lady isn't saying Deeshawn had a gun just that he might know how the killer could get a gun around here. Am I right?"

"Yes, that's right, Teshonda. I'm sorry I didn't make myself clear."

The knotted brow didn't unfurl, the hands kept fighting. "Well I sure don't know anything about guns."

"No, of course you don't. We are probably on a wild goose chase but we have to ask. We know it's painful to have to talk about it, especially now. It's just that, if we can find how the shooter got the gun, we can find out who it was."

Ms. Lorento pulled out the handkerchief and daubed at the corners of her dry eyes. "Will you tell that nice Lieutenant Caine I will try to remember something?"

Frank averted his eyes, lowered his head and scratched at a non-existent itch at the back of his head. To his credit, he didn't let out an exasperated sigh.

Not missing a beat, Calleigh answered, "Of course we will. He'll appreciate that too."

Excusing themselves, saying goodbye, the two stood outside of Frank's car for a moment.

"Was that one of Horatio's five-for-a-dollar mop rags that lady was using?"

Calleigh let out a laugh. "I'm not sure they cost even that much. But yes. And from the looks of it, she laundered and ironed it again too. I'd say that's at least three times in two days. I'd say she has it bad for him."

"I guess I should be glad I don't have hair if that's what it would get me with every case."

"Just offer up your lapel for weeping and that would do just fine."

"At the cost of cleaning nowadays? I could buy a wig and have less problems."

Calleigh cocked her head to one side and squinted her eyes.

"What're you doing?"

"Imagining you with hair. You know what? Bald works for you."

Frank made a hissing sound before saying, "Let's go, we need to talk to some high school age miscreants that I know of."

"And you know these kids, how?"

"Well, a buddy of mine is a juvenile detention officer. I can call and ask him to look up what kids from this school have recently been arrested for gun possession. Then we go to the Miami-Dade Center and interview them."

# # #

What sounded like an easy plan was anything but. Because of the schedules the facility had to follow and the laws that protected children, they had to make about twenty calls, pass through a variety of doors in the building surrounded by two fences ten foot tall and five feet apart each with double thick concertina wiring on top. Then they still had to be interviewed by the center Director. In the end, about three o'clock, they had permission to talk to three kids, one at a time, over a period of forty-five minutes.

The room they used was painted in dull gunmetal gray. Even though it had high windows which let in plenty of the late afternoon light, the color of the clean walls made the room dreary as if it had spider's webs in the corners. The long table filled the center of the room and so there was barely enough room for the three folding metal chairs, two on one side and one on the other.

Sitting on the side closest to the door, Calleigh and Frank watched the parole officer escort the first young man into the room point to the chair opposite of them. The officer received a typical 'angry' look from his charge. After a moment, the young man sat and glared at his visitors, Calleigh first. Then he stuck his jaw out at Frank and looked dead-eyed into his face.

"You brought some eye candy, huh? Whatchuwan' fer it?"

"Show some respect to the lady, wise ass. This is CSI Duquesne and you're going to answer questions for us just because you're otherwise such a nice kid. You get me?"

"What if I don't want to?"

Frank rose to his feet and leaned forward. "I bet your parole office will have something to say about what you say or don't say in here." He sat back down. The chair creaked as the metal protested at his weight. He watched the teenager's jaw bunch a couple of times as the words did their work.

"Like I said, whatchuwan' from me?"

"Who would you go to to get a gun near West Twenty-ninth in West Little River area?"

"How would I know?"

"Because that's your territory so quit wasting my time!"

The kid leaned back in the chair using as much time as possible to delay return to his cell. "Depends. What size?"

"Nine mil hand pistol."

Clarence's smooth brow tried to knit as if he were trying to remember what he'd last read about the highest grossing rap artist on the charts. Finally, answered, "You could go to a couple'a corners and watch…"

Frank put his hand up. "I want particulars Clarence. I want a name, a who, and where to find him."

"What's in it for me?"

Frank glanced up at the parole officer and received a slight nod. "I'll see what I can get you. Now tell me before I lose patience and start taking things away."

The eyes hopelessly walked the walls in a dark gaze. "There's a guy that sits in an old beater Mazda, blue, I think, at Arcola Lake Park. They call him Baggy 'cause he's got bags under his eyes."

"You mean like an older man would?"

Clarence shrugged his shoulder. "I guess. I only heard about him."

"And who else would get me a gun?"

Clarence screwed up his face and whined, "Man! Ain't one enough?"

Another look passed between the watchful officer and the detective with a nod that followed.

"No, one isn't enough. I'll take one more and then your life here will improve for a minute or two. You clam up and suddenly any privileges you thought you were going to get will go by-by for a long time, you get me?"

Clarence put his chin down to his chest and glared up through his maturing brow ridges. "There's a house over on fifteenth near eighty-ninth, you know, in that area. You can't miss it because it has about a million wind chimes on the front porch. You can't get to the front door without setting up a racket. He's supposed to have all kinds of guns."

Frank nodded to the officer who put a hand under Clarence's arm as a signal to rise.

Watching the lad stroll out, Calleigh slowly shook her head in wonder. "What, no good boy, thanks for the information?"

Keeping his eyes on the now closed door, Frank answered, "When these kids are this far into the system because of bad behavior, you don't thank them for having to fight to pull out information. Kids like these are the ones that their mothers should have smacked on their backsides when they were four for arguing about cleaning up their toys. Here they start them from the bottom and hope some get the idea."

"What does he get or was that a ruse to get him to talk?"

"Oh he'll get something. That's what the nod from the officer was about. He'll probably get a dish of about two teaspoonfuls of ice cream with sprinkles before he goes back to the dorm."

"Not as a dessert after dinner?"

"And let the other kids know he made 'the man' happy for whatever reason? That's a beating in the showers for sure."

"Okay, and if the next kid says something like 'Hey, nice jugs' I should go all hardnosed on him?"

"Wouldn't hurt."

Not only was there no necessity for Calleigh to bristle at a rude comment, the boy answered Frank's questions in a forthright manner. Actually, except for the order of the dealers, the information was the same; the man at the park and the man at the wind chime laden house. Again, at the look and nod, the boy was promised a treat for his cooperation. In this case, because there was no work at getting the information, the indication was he would be well rewarded.

"And the reward this time?" Calleigh inquired.

"Maybe a cherry or some chocolate sauce."

"All on two spoonfuls of ice cream?"

"They're starting at the bottom here. Even if the judge decrees they'll only get parole this time without any incarceration, they're treated as if they were going to go to a Juvenile Justice Home. It's just a reminder of what their life could be like if they go and act stupid again."

The third young inmate of the temporary holding facility had nothing to say even under Frank's most intimidating glare and promises of nothing good in his future. Not letting the farce continue, the parole officer took the boy away after a mere ten minutes.

Returning to the central office the two picked up their weapons, wallets and I.D. badges and turned in the visitor badges and walked out the double secure exit doors.

Once in the car, Calleigh suggested, "Hey, once we stop off at the lab and sign out, you want to go get drink? I'll see if anyone else is around that wants to come."

"Uh, yeah, sure." Frank's eyes searched Calleigh's face while she put the keys in the ignition and fired up the engine. He could only hope the rest of the CSI team would be busy or gone home already.