"Nigel?" Horatio asked, turning towards him. The look on his face acted like a jumpstart; he quickly reached out and put a hand on his arm. "Nigel, what's going on?"
He was so pale that it had Horatio genuinely worried. He had one hand over his mouth, and his brown eyes were fixed vacantly on the screen. He looked simultaneously shocked, frightened and sickened, and he didn't seem to hear Horatio at all.
"Nigel," he said a bit louder.
He looked up with a jerk.
"What's wrong?" he asked, gentler. He knew from the silence behind him that Calleigh and Eric were also looking at him, and based on the way he glanced behind him, Horatio could tell that he didn't like it that way.
"I, uh--" he started. "Horatio, could I -- could I talk to you outside for a bit? Alone?"
Horatio just nodded, slowly. "Yes, of course."
Nigel was the first person to start for the door, walking quickly, his hands shaking at his sides. Horatio wasn't far behind him. The minute he closed the door, Nigel turned.
"Try not to ask too many questions, all right?" he said immediately. "Just -- just try to listen first."
Once again, Horatio nodded. "Okay."
"When I…" he began, faltering in his sentence. "When I was nine, I -- my parents went through a nasty divorce, and I was sent to a foster home. My foster parent's name was -- is -- Alan Carter, he's -- he's the man in that drawing."
"What?"
"He's a paedophile," he said weakly, a look of utter sadness on his face. "He raped me. Quite a few times. And I was so young, I didn't know--" He closed his eyes tightly. "Look, the point is that I -- I know him."
Horatio felt something subtly simmering in his veins, but he knew that the cool mask of indifference wasn't going to fall. He couldn't get it out of his mind: raped him. La Hire had raped Nigel when he was nine.
"You… don't have to worry about me saying anything," Horatio murmured, "because I wouldn't even know what to say. He really--?"
"Yes," Nigel said shortly. "I stayed with him for two months while my parents hammered out the divorce suit. Yes, I hated every minute of it. Yes, he still terrifies me, because yes, I still have the nightmares."
His voice was shaking almost unnoticeably, but Horatio was a cop, and he was nothing if not perceptive. The hand near his thigh clenched, and he forced a smile that, Horatio was sure, had vengeance written all over it.
"That," Horatio said, "is all the more reason to track him down and put him away for life."
Nigel sighed out and raked his hand through his hair, staring at the floor.
"Nigel," said Horatio, softening at the expression on his face, "as you know, we're going after him today. Do you want to be there?"
Nigel's fingers were drumming quickly against his upper arm in a 1-3-2-4 pattern. Horatio could see him weighing the consequences in his mind.
His question had been completely honest. Horatio could clearly see both sides: on one hand, La Hire still scared him, and not without good reason. On the other hand, who wouldn't want to see a pair of cuffs slapped on the hands of their rapist?
Finally, Nigel said, "Can I be armed?"
"Yes," Horatio replied, smiling.
"Good. Great. Okay, then. That's fine. I'll come with you."
Horatio put a hand on his shoulder. "Okay."
-- -- -- -- --
Did Nigel want to go with him? Well, that was certainly the million-dollar question. Did he want to face the man that destroyed his childhood? Not particularly, no. Did he want to see his face when he was cuffed? How many ways could he say 'hell fucking yes?'
"Can I be armed?" he asked.
Horatio smiled warmly at him. "Yes," he said.
"Good," he said weakly. "Great. Okay, then. That's fine. I'll come with you."
He felt Horatio's hand land on his shoulder, and Nigel finally looked up from the gleaming white tile and into the intense blue eyes. "Okay," he said softly, meeting his gaze unwaveringly. Nigel had no qualms with letting the eye contact continue.
After a moment, Horatio whispered, "He won't touch you."
Nigel smiled. "Knight in shining armour, I presume?" he asked in an equally soft voice.
"Something like that, yeah," Horatio said, the smile on his face growing ever so slightly.
"Well," he said slowly, "all right, but I swear, if you think I'm going to pull a Scarlet O'Hara, you're dead wrong, mate."
Horatio laughed. "No, I'm confident that you can hold your own." Nigel smiled at him, nothing but warmth in his eyes, and Horatio really couldn't help but smile back. Nigel really could hold his own, Horatio realised. He was smart, confident and, if Horatio could infer anything, a genuinely kind person.
He really would be an excellent addition to the MDPD, and especially the understaffed crime lab.
"Hey, listen," Horatio began, "I've been talking with a few other CSIs lately, about you."
"Me?"
"Mhm." He looked away from the door panel he'd been studying and back to Nigel. "A lot of them really seem to like you. Two of them have already asked if I had plans to hire you."
Though Horatio was watching very carefully for a reaction on Nigel's face, he wasn't getting much. His expression was searching, and carefully controlled. After a few moments of silence, Nigel said, "Well, hypothetically speaking, would you?"
"Hypothetically speaking, hmm?" Horatio asked. "Well, hypothetically, I would, because you could be an excellent resource to the crime lab."
Nigel rubbed the back of his neck with one hand. "And I, hypothetically… would be honoured to work here, and would accept without hesitation -- if I didn't already have a job back up in Boston."
Horatio looked away again. Realistically, he should have expected that reaction, but it still left a mark that was difficult to ignore. Nigel already had a job, halfway up the East Coast; it was one that he probably loved, and wanted to return to. And, once the storm ended, he probably would.
Why did that scare Horatio so much?
"That," said Horatio, "is perfectly understandable, and the choice, I suppose, is ultimately yours."
"Horatio," he said quickly, grabbing his wrist to keep him from turning away. Horatio met his gaze fearlessly. "I'll think about it. And I mean that, I do. Every word."
Another pause stretched across the conversation.
"Okay," Horatio said finally. "Now, if it's fine with you, we have a witness to interrogate."
-- -- -- -- --
As they pulled up to the large traffic circle driveway in the front of the house, Nigel rolled down the window in the back seat of the Hummer and peered out it. The house was just as large as Horatio had described, with the white brick façade gleaming in the Miami sun.
"Swanky," Nigel commented. "And nice cars, to boot."
"Cars?" asked Eric, who had been looking through a file. "How many?"
"Three," Nigel replied. "Why?"
"Three? That's illogical for a family of two, isn't it," he said, "even with money to burn."
"So it seems we have a visitor," Eric murmured.
Nigel grabbed the handle of the kit and followed the other two out and up the path that led to the front door. By the time he had made it to the long stoop, Horatio was already at the door and knocking loudly.
"Miami Dade Police, open up," he roared. "Eric, get the plates on all three cars for me, would you?"
Eric nodded. "You got it, H," he said, hopping off the stoop and crossing the lawn to the three cars lined up around the outer edge of the traffic circle.
"Nigel, do you remember why she hit you on the day we found her and her husband?"
"She never had the chance to explain. I guess that's one of the questions we can ask," Nigel said, setting the kit down on the stone railing that circumvented the stoop, save for the top of the stairs leading to it. He produced two latex gloves and tossed them to Horatio, who caught them without thinking and pulled them on. Nigel then got two for himself.
"Miami Dade Police, open up!" he said louder when he got no response. From somewhere upstairs, they heard a thumping sound that caught both of their attentions. Then there was the sound of footsteps, creaking, and finally the door opened.
Mrs. Lovett was standing in the doorway, bundled in a green robe with her hair dishevelled. Nigel knew what "freshly shagged" looked like, and Mrs. Lovett had it written all over her face in nine different languages.
"Good morning, Mrs. Lovett," Horatio said, looking up at her through his sunglasses. "Who's your visitor?"
"Lieutenant? I, err -- it's my -- my financial advisor," she stammered.
"Really?" Horatio challenged. "I must be rusty with formalities, because I could have sworn that 'financial advisors' didn't usually give their clients hickeys."
Nigel smirked triumphantly as Mrs. Lovett clapped a hand over the side of her neck. Before she had a chance to reply, Horatio cut her off:
"May we come in? We have a few questions for you."
"I, uhm… yes. Yes, of course. Come in," she said, stepping aside and pulling the door open wider. Horatio glanced briefly over his shoulder, in time with Nigel, and both of them saw Eric returning, holding up a pad of paper. Horatio jerked his head and Eric jogged to catch up with them.
"Mrs. Lovett, do you know who this is?" Horatio asked, motioning to Nigel with one hand.
"No, I don't believe we've met," she said, looking at Nigel.
"I'm Nigel Townsend. I'm the man who found you and your husband at the crime scene," Nigel said. "The one you backhanded."
She cringed slightly. "I'm… I'm sorry," she said quickly, "I must have been slightly delusional at the time. I didn't mean anything by it."
"I want to know why," Horatio said, resting his hands on his hips.
"I… I don't know why."
"Let me take a stab at it," Eric said, crossing his arms over his chest. "You said your attacker had a British accent. Nigel, here, found you, probably said something to help wake you, and on an automatic reaction, you hit him."
She blinked owlishly at him. "I suppose… that could be it."
Horatio stared right through her. "Your attacker didn't have a British accent, did he, Mrs. Lovett?"
"I…"
"In fact, I'm beginning to suspect that nothing you said about your attacker was true," he said in a voice that was simultaneously soft and commanding. "We found a fingerprint on the gun that killed your late husband, and yet we didn't find a single epithelial cell."
"You're a doctor, Mrs. L," Eric said. "You must know that something like that is rare at best. The average human sheds millions of epithelial cells every day just by moving."
"What are you insinuating?" she asked, her voice shaking.
"I'm not insinuating a thing, Mrs. Lovett," Horatio replied softly. "I'm investigating. That's my job. And my investigation continually points to you."
Suddenly, there was a new voice from above: "You have nothing to substantiate what you're implying, Lieutenant."
Nigel's head snapped upwards, where he saw a man, also in a robe, with hair as thick as his Londoner accent. He was leaning on the banister that overlooked the foyer, not far from the top of the stairs leading down.
Horatio looked up at him searchingly for a few moments, the intensity of his blue gaze leaving no effect on his steely composure.
"Not yet," he said slowly, "but I will."
"Until then," the man said, "get out of this house."
Eyes narrowed, Horatio returned his gaze to Mrs. Lovett, who was shaking and pale. "Don't go far, Eleanor," he said before turning and walking out.
Nigel smirked. "Cheers," he said, nodding.
The second the door closed behind them, Horatio said, "Something's not right."
"Tell me about it," Eric drawled. "That man she was with was giving me ten kinds of bad vibes."
"And Mrs. Lovett seemed genuinely shaken," Nigel said. "She couldn't have faked that. Do you think she really had nothing to do with this?"
"I don't know," Horatio said, and Nigel could tell that it bothered him. "You know what? Let's pay a visit to our friend, Mr. Lester, and see what he has to say about this mess."
-- -- -- -- --
"Are we sure this is the right address?" Nigel asked sounding appalled.
"According to his rap sheet, yes," Eric responded, looking up from the paper. "Though it doesn't look like it's been touched in a couple hundred years."
"The man could invest in a gardener at the very least," agreed Horatio, eyeing the broken-down shack with a wary eye. The place could barely pass off for dilapidated, with two shattered windows fixed with duct tape and overgrown vines curling up the rusty drainpipes. However, it couldn't have been unoccupied, because there was very loud rap music blaring from within, making the shrubbery around the perimetre shiver to the beat.
"There's no way he'd hear us if we knocked," Eric said with a sneer.
Horatio's eyes moved slowly from the door to the outer corner of the house, where he saw a thick bundle of cords leading up to a hole at the bottom of the wall.
"So let's get his attention another way," said Horatio, pulling his gun from the side of his belt and firing once at the cords.
All at once the music went silent and the lights inside went out. From inside, he heard a loud swear word and an undignified thump noise. Horatio then moved up to the door and pounded on it twice. "Miami Dade Police," he called, "open up."
"Have I mentioned lately that you're my hero?" Nigel asked from behind him, and Horatio just smirked.
The door swung open on rusty hinges, and framed in it was a man of medium height and build, with slicked black hair and a toothpick hanging between his lips. An unflattering snarl was contorting his face, and a tattered wife-beater was hanging off one shoulder.
"What the hell is your problem?" he snapped. "You just cut of my power!"
"The only problem is that it isn't your power, Mr. Lester," Horatio replied calmly, looking away from the ruined electric cords and up at the man. "We have a warrant to search your premises."
"What? Bullshit! Give it here," he demanded, and Eric handed it over without a word. He snatched it out of his hands and opened it up, scanning the contents of the paper with beady brown eyes. Horatio breezed passed him into the house.
The rancid scent of mould met his senses and he wrinkled his nose in disgust. "Have you ever heard the term 'housecleaning,' Mr. Lester?" he asked tightly.
"What's this about?" he demanded, tightening his hand and causing the warrant to crumple in his clenched fist.
"We found your fingerprint on a gun used to kill a man recently," Horatio replied, glancing back at the man. "However, we know you were framed."
"If you know I was framed, then why are you searching my fucking house?"
"Because, Lester," Eric interjected, "no one is framed without reason. There's a good chance you know the man who framed you, and evidence from this house could lead us to him."
"Can't you just do the normal cop thing and ask me questions?" he asked hotly.
"If I did, would you answer them?" Horatio challenged.
The man stared at him, calculation on his face. "Depends on what you're asking."
"I rest my case," he said. "Search it, boys."
"Aye-aye, mon capitain," Nigel said, saluting and heading past him into the filthy living room. "I won't do it willingly, though -- oh, man, is that mould growing on the couch?"
"Yeah, what's it to you?" he snapped.
Nigel gave him a disgusted look. "You, sir," he said, "are made of failure."
He just sneered at Nigel as he headed into the sitting area and crouched down at the foot of the couch. Horatio watched as he produced a swab and took a sample of whatever repulsive substance was growing on the couch. Nigel held it up to proper light that streamed through the window and said to Lester, "Semen. If I find multiple donors and blood, you're going down."
"You don't scare me, cop," he said defiantly.
"Good," Horatio interjected, "because he's not a cop. He's a criminologist -- one who's nabbed more worthy criminals than you."
Lester's nostrils flared and he raised his chin. "Whatever. I ain't been rapin' no kids."
Nigel raised his eyebrows. "I didn't mention any kids," he said evenly.
The smugness on his face was wiped off in an instant, and Horatio chuckled darkly. "Does he scare you now?" he asked, leaning in to slash through his cockiness with one glance. "Eric, cuff him. He's just admitted to child molestation."
