Chapter 10

Horatio got a chair for Letitia and put it in the hallway across from the interview room's glass wall so father and daughter could see each other. He did not do this for their peace of mind. When on the trail of a criminal he didn't give a damn about anyone's peace of mind. Until Odobescu was cleared, Horatio was going to make him uncomfortable, going to manipulate him, and squeeze his shoes until the presence of the bodies and the gun in his own back yard was explained. Letitia was somehow part of the man's problems and he was going to look for any cues he could get when Dad looked at his child. Letitia would just have to be patient.

He explained to the girl that he was going to ask her father some questions. He noticed her feet shuffling beneath her skirt. He squatted down as he often did when examining evidence on the ground.

"So, what do you think of the lab here?"

"I'm surprised how much you can find out about someone just from what they used or touched." She averted her eyes to the floor and began gently rocking back and forth.

"Are you alright? Would you like some soda while you wait?"

"I'm fine. What are you going to ask my Dad? He's a good guy you know. He loves me." She stopped rocking.

"I'm sure he does. I have to find out what he knows about what we found this morning."

She lowered her head until her pale face was hidden by her dark hair. "You're going to grill him like a cheeseburger? I watch those TV shows where the cop accuses the perp and watches him sweat."

"I'm going to ask him some questions is all. After all, there were dead bodies in the back yard and a gun."

"But not the gun that Deeshawn was killed with. I heard somebody say that while Ms. Valera showed me around."

Horatio winced inwardly. "It's the same caliper, shoots the same bullets. That's another thing we have to talk to your father about. Now excuse me. I don't want to keep your father waiting unnecessarily."

Letitia slouched down on the chair with the typical teen deadpan look that spoke volumes about waiting to grow up and do things right.

He paused at the door while the thought of finding out who talked about the gun passed through his mind. It probably wasn't going to affect anything but talking about evidence before they knew about the rest of the clues could make or break a case in the courts. Adding it to his long to-do list, he shoved his shoulder against the glass door.

Yoet Odobescu had seen the detective talk to his daughter and then pause at the door. With cuffed hands tucked between his thighs, he sat up straight, expectantly.

Horatio walked to the end of the table and leaned on his hands. He asked in a conversational tone, "Mr. Odobescu, what do you know about those bodies in your back yard? You must have noticed the disturbed earth back there."

The man's jaw worked back and forth under his heavy mustache while he stared at the table top. He glanced for a moment at his child and back down, and then drew his thick black brows up in a tent above the bridge of his nose. "I did not know they were there. The back wall is broken. Maybe someone came in from there and buried them."

"Why drag a body all the way to within fifteen feet of the house? Why not bury it nearer the wall or even outside of the wall?"

"I don't know. People are strange."

"Again I ask if you noticed the disturbed ground. I bet your daughter goes out there sometimes. Didn't she tell you about it? Should I ask her?"

"No!" His hand rose beseechingly towards Horatio as if of its own accord.

"Why wouldn't she say anything to you?" Horatio persisted.

"I don't know." By this point, father and daughter's eyes were locked.

"Excuse me." Horatio pushed off from the table and turned to the door.

As usual, the uniformed officer at the door was there and yet, not there, not showing any reaction to what he heard or saw. He was a presence, a safety precaution if needed, a witness only to attack if it happened. He stood with his eyes fixed on Odobescu.

"Wait. Don't ask Letitia. She didn't do anything bad. I did."

"What did you do?"

"I shot those men. I had to do it. They—they were threatening me because I am a foreigner and don't talk as they do."

"Two men at different times that you were forced to shoot?"

Odobescu waved his hand from side to side. "No, I shoot both at the same time."

"We have proof that isn't true. Try again. Why did you shoot them?"

After a pause, the large man said, "One I shoot because he threatened me. The other, I was drunk and lose my temper at him."

"Where did you shoot them?"

The drooping eyelids sagged a bit more. "I don't remember."

"You kill two men and you don't remember? That seems a bit odd. Was it at your house? In a bar? On a street?"

The Romanian's chin lowered to his chest but he kept his eyes on Horatio. "I killed them."

"Where did you get the gun?" This was going far too easily.

Seemingly relieved at the change of subject, Odobescu raised his head. "I had it for a long time. I had five guns, all Glocks, nine millimeter. They are best for perfect shooting. After using this gun to kill those men I buried it. Then I threw rest into swamp."

"Why bury one and throw the rest in the swamp? Which swamp Yoet?"

The man's face turned to stone.

Horatio was fairly sure the turn of subject wouldn't work but he had figured it was worth a try. Still, he tried again. "Letitia must have wondered about those places where the ground had been dug up. Didn't she ask you?"

"No. She tried but I said it was none of her business and she did not ask again."

"You know what? I don't buy that. Letitia is very smart. If you wouldn't tell her, I'd bet she would go out and do some digging herself." Again he turned to go through the door.

"I tell you no. She is a good girl."

"Mr. Odobescu, your story isn't making sense. I'm going to call for a Child Protective Services representative to come here. As soon as I have a proper witness, I can question Letitia without your permission. Maybe she can fill in the holes here."

"No, please, I'll tell you. I kill one man last month on the road before the turn to my house. I thought I knew him from the old country, many years ago. I always carry my gun then. Then, two weeks ago, the second man comes to my door and I think he wants to rob us, maybe hurt us. Gun is by the front door and I shoot him."

Before Horatio had a chance to consider this yet different version of the demise of the bodies, his phone rang. He excuses himself, stepped into the hallway and down a few paces so Letitia couldn't hear him. It was Alexx.

"Horatio, more news on the bodies; both are male and neither have DNA or facial markers to indicate they are of Native American heritage."

"Good, that solves a potential problem."

"Also, Calleigh told me that the bullet I recovered were from the buried gun and not from the one that killed Deeshawn."

"So I heard."

"You did? I just talked to Calleigh and she said she said she didn't have a chance to tell you."

"Let's just say I heard it through the grapevine."

There was a brief silence. "Now Horatio, you usually don't give much weight to unverified rumor. What's up?"

"Not to worry. I consider the source legitimate but thank you for the confirmation."

After brief consideration, he returned to Letitia's side. "Your father says he killed those men. As soon as he writes his confession, we'll take him to jail and call a Child Protective Services representative for you."

Letitia looked up with the coolest, most intelligent expression Horatio had ever seen on a fourteen year old's face. "I understand."

# # #

Eric caught Calleigh coming around the corner. He said, "Hey, Cal, did I hear you make a sound of frustration earlier this morning? You, who is always so good natured?"

Calleigh smiled as she rolled her blue green eyes to the ceiling. "I was entitled. I was making calls to the Jacksonville Naval Air Station about Beeks bringing in those small shipments of dishes almost every week. Well, I was transferred from one clerk to another, then to an officer and to another. An hour later, I found myself talking to the clerk I started talking to in the first place!"

"Yeah, I know that officialese runaround. So, what did you do?"

Calleigh's voice took on a honeyed southern accent. "I called the officer in charge of the visitor's center."

"And?"

"I chartered a helicopter from the MDPD and as soon as I give these ballistics reports to Horatio we're taking a trip."

# # #

Two hours after the conversation in the hall, the two CSIs were talking to Lieutenant Commander Beeks' commanding officer, Captain Merkel Troy. He was a balding, red faced man with the paunch of a man who spent many hours behind a desk.

"I was greatly saddened to learn of Beeks' death. He was a fine officer and did his job well." The voice carried the perfect pitch of fatherly melancholy without being too maudlin.

"What were his duties?"

"Primarily flying supplies out to fleet ships preparing for long voyages and hauling waste products back. Occasionally they did rescue work that the Coast Guard couldn't handle. He flew the Sea Hawk helicopter, you know. Those monsters can handle just about any load short of a barn big as a battle cruiser." Not only the vernacular but the accent said he was most likely from Arkansas.

"Did his duties include bringing in small shipments of dishes from his import-export business almost every week?"

The captain gave a quizzical frown. "When you say small, just how small?"

"We're not sure yet. Small enough to fit in his Cessna 350 with his own luggage included."

"Delivered to where?"

"We don't know. We have manifests showing arrival of the dishes into the warehouse and then only the manager's and secretary's words that he took them to the airport once a week where his plane was and evidently flew them here. We checked his flight logs and there was nothing to show any deviation from the airport in Miami to here."

Captain Troy considered their words in silence for a few seconds tapping the inside of his Annapolis graduation ring on the arm of his chair. Then, exhaling noisily he said, "I can see bringing in a special order now and then to a ship but not every week. I'll have to get some people to investigate and get back to you." He rose from his seat.

Eric said, "Thank you, Captain. We're just trying to figure out why anyone would wish him any harm."

"I don't reckon how anyone here could have anything to do with his death there. It was highly unusual for him to be living in Miami but it happens sometimes. Officers have a great deal of leniency as long as they can prove they can report for duty as scheduled."

The two thanked again him and excused themselves.

The base transport took them to the helicopter with gyros already in motion. From what they could see of the dwindling form that had been their driver, his hand to his ear indicated he was calling someone.

Calleigh gave a laugh as she said, "I guess they wanted security to know we got off safely."

"Left is more like it," Eric retorted. "They're protecting their turf. I don't think they like civilians questioning their activities for any reason whether it resulted in murder or not."

# # #

Calleigh, a manifest in hand, sought out the lab's resident manuscript expert Cynthia Wells. She also had a copy of Beeks' driver's license.

"Hey Cyndi, can you do a quick comparison for me, please?"

Cynthias's face said, 'they all want it quick', but never-the-less she smiled and said, "Sure." Everyone knew that she always declared she would soon be taking donations for a seeing eye dog because of the toll the work took on her vision. They also knew she was joking.

She put the documents under the projector which enlarged them for easier viewing. "Okay, the first thing I notice is that the upward and downward slants are all the made with the same pressure. Then, the one that looks more like a capital 'P' than a 'B' on the manifest still has the same ballooning out from the stem as the license signature. I can't say you have a smoking gun, I'd have to examine it more thoroughly for a definite word. All I can say is that they appear very similar."

"I'll make copies and see that you get them."

# # #

Horatio finished up his last call as he watched lights being turned off in the lab below his elevated office. Turning off all but the small desk lamp and locking the door, he walked down the six treads. Strolling to the elevator he bade goodnight to those who were still working on projects that would not wait for the next day. His day was done but that was rare. He would probably pay for taking off and yet, he didn't care. He had a dinner date with Manon. As he climbed into his car he let his feelings spread into a full blown grin. Not that he didn't often smile; his job, catching criminals with undeniable proof, usually brought a smile to his face. Grinning, however, was fairly rare.

Before starting the engine of the TR-4, the primal growl that always gave him pleasure, he checked his messages to be sure Manon hadn't cancelled. There were a few updates from a few of the lab crew but nothing from Manon.

From his beach condo, he headed for the address she had given him. He found it was a modest apartment building not too far from the Florida Museum of Natural History.

Although she had certainly done herself proud fashion wise at the little café where they had met for coffee, Horatio was hard put not to gape at the wonder of her at the opened door. Her dark hair, her nearly black eyes above the pale high cheekbones and the slightly pointed chin above the golden brown dress with a neckline that plunged beyond any man's dreams stopped his usual flip remarks to women at the early points of dating. All he could do was bow his head once and say, "Wow!"

"Ah, thank you. I love such high praise," she said gaily. "I am ready." She held out her arm in the traditional show of her desire to be taken.

Horatio was more than willing to be her escort, her knight, her bodyguard.

He inquired about her day and she his. As he helped her into the small car, she asked about where they were going for dinner. Just as he was about to answer, he felt his phone purr in his pocket.

Excusing himself and stepping to one side, he caught a glimpse of the puzzled disappointment on her face. Hearing the message, he gave her the bad news. "I'm sorry, Manon. It seems that the Letitia is very upset and demanding to see me. They had her at a home and thought she was settling in. Now she is screaming that she has to tell me something. It could be important."

Manon pursed her lips before speaking. "Your work continues through the night? Oh, la, so I must go heat something for my dinner."

"I am sorry."

Manon shook her head wearily. "Wait until I get a call about a pile of bones that some expensive project must stop for until I can determine who they were, when they lived and whether it is a matter for the police or a museum."

Horatio walked her to her door as slowly as he dared while he thought wildly about what the girl could want to talk to him about. Having apologized to her once, he kissed her cheek and clearly heard her shut the door behind him as he walked down the hall.

How many times had women given up on him before he had had a chance to get to know them or they he? He knew that even Calleigh, pretty as she was, seldom had dates and had never had a lasting relationship as far as he knew. Manon was the first woman who was really interesting to him. Calleigh had been tempting but the working proximity and the timing since his wife's death were too overwhelming. Now, a few years later, this intelligent, witty, flirtatious woman was at the right time and distance and this damned case was putting a wall between them. Considering Tim Speedle's death brought so close again with this Beeks guy who looked so much like him and Manon so tantalizing, some days, he wondered if the job was worth it.