Chapter 12
The next morning, Sally was in the office early. After last evening's conversation with Horatio, she had some work to do. She'd gotten comfortable in the wing-backed armchair, her bare feet drawn up to one side as she sat tucked into the corner, prepared for at least an hour's reading. At first, she'd hoped that the slimness of Horatio's psych file simply meant there were complete notes in concise, perhaps small type. Instead, she'd found Lieutenant Caine's entire file could be read in less than fifteen minutes. Primarily, there were a few pages of notations, that had been filed by clerks. Most were a number of strong recommendations from Internal Affairs Bureau that Horatio Caine see the department counselor in regards to on-duty shooting deaths. Two of the recommendations were not for kills, but were rather related to a case involving the death of his wife, and then a year later, the wounding of his teammate, Eric Delko. His wife's death had been noted only because her killer was someone in a case he'd been involved with. However, there was no evidence that Caine had responded to any recommendations, save the very earliest in the file.
The rest of the pages consisted of his personal history, a police officer in New York City, early promotion to detective, the move to Miami, time spent with the bomb squad, a move to becoming a criminalist, rise to the rank of lieutenant, then becoming head of the day team in the Crime Scene Investigation Laboratory. The only thing of incredible interest to her was the first IAB recommendation for counseling when he'd been a blue in New York. Apparently, he'd been involved in the shooting death of his own father! The details of the occurrence were no doubt in his main file. According to the old notes, he did go in for two sessions with the counselor. If she remembered right, however, back in those days, New York law enforcement wasn't interested in helping its officers, only in making sure they were cleared for continuing duty. They barely gave a head nod to anything like counseling, so his having gone in twice was noteworthy in itself. The faded writing was mostly unreadable anyway. Sally did recognize the words Catholic and priest in the scribbled notes. Perhaps, she mused, he'd been turned off by the so-called counseling of the department and had turned to his childhood training, going to his priest in times of trouble. She wondered if, perhaps, he still did. For sure, he didn't get any department counseling after that.
Okay, so what did she know now? Not much more than what she'd gleaned from her few conversations with him. His constantly serious demeanor was probably derived from whatever darkness had led him to shoot his father while on duty. Aside from recommendations from the terse IAB recommendations and the sparse notes of the time from so long ago, the only revelation here was that he was a Catholic. That was about it.
The thought of his religion led her to wonder if he wore a crucifix under his shirt. This led to wondering what else was under the shirt. Did those freckles go all the way down? 'Stop! Suppose you have to counsel him?' This led to thinking of what it would be like, talking quietly with this man about his deepest, most inner thoughts, about what he might reveal. Pain, no doubt. He'd lay his head against her bare breast while she ran her fingers—'Stop!'
No wonder the guy gave her permission to look at his file! He knew there was nothing in it! Yeah! Sure! Read it, and then prove you know how to read a psych file! And she'd taken the bait!
Ah! But wait a minute, there's more than one way to skin a cat, isn't there? How often before had she had to profile a perp with this little information to go on? After all, she'd had access to Horatio several times already. Sally grabbed up the notebook she always had tucked into a pocket of her skirt and started making notes. Ordinarily, profiling someone she worked with was a no-no but, not only was this relationship temporary, he'd asked for it. 'Well, hadn't he?'
She started writing down her observations, then stopped to find the right words. She laid her head back and stared in space. Aside from the good looks, the perfect color of his bright red-gold hair, the beautiful blue eyes, the way he filled out a tuxedo, the quiet, comforting somberness of his voice… 'Stop!' She started in earnest making notes in her scribbled semi-shorthand. He'd shot his own father, but apparently in the line of duty (in file). He's duty bound, beyond the obligation to family (from conversation). She knew that statistics have proven that men who kill their father have most often done so in self-defense or to save another close family member. Hmmm, but in this case, the man was in uniform when he did it. That could mean that, even then, he spent more time being a cop than not. In any case, it must have deeply affected him. Then, a few years ago, his wife had been killed. No clue about how long married. He'd been in law enforcement all of his adult life (in file). Anyone in law enforcement experiences huge amounts of painful experiences, emotionally and physically. Such onslaughts on the psyche will harden a man, break him, or quiet him; observations indicated quiet in Horatio's case, since broken, he's not. He was rebellious but only enough to play by a few of his own rules (deduced from lack of comments in his file indicating he didn't follow the orders go to counselors). Yet, he must have impressed his superiors; they trusted his judgment enough that they never suspended him or even reprimanded him for not going to counseling. He did play enough of the corporate rules that he'd made detective at a very young age and was now head of a whole team. Obviously, his team thought highly of him. Conclusions so far: he was honorable; he worked well with others when he was of a mind to, but generally thought outside of the box, which probably helped in his line of work.
The frosty eyed woman put her notebook down in frustration. 'Great! So, if I were an employer, I'd hire him! Think, girl! He wants to hear something out of you that no one else knows!' A thought stuck her. 'How do you know? Maybe he wants to be sure you don't know anything, that his cover hasn't been penetrated.'
She reviewed everything she could remember of the interactions with him. He'd never acknowledged that she'd caught him napping that first time. Even the other day, when he was perfectly relaxed in her office, he only spoke of business related matters. He never referred to his being tired or happy or any kind of emotion or state of being. 'He replaces personal information with a work ethic.' Not a noisily, like some people who almost shout, look at me and notice how hard I'm working. He goes about his work quietly. He indicates his accomplishments by inference to what he's done already. He seemed to prefer a uniform look in that he always wears a black suit and deep colored striped shirts all the time. He also knows how to dress well, as evidenced by that tux at the gala the other night, so the work clothing might be catering to orders/recommendations, perhaps. But why did he accommodate those orders? So as to remain unknown, perhaps? 'Not showing a taste in clothing, wearing a proscribed uniform could be a way of hiding the personality, couldn't it?'
'Okay, given that you're right, kiddo, that you're not just seeing things that aren't there, is it worth it to prove to him that you're right, that you can read a psych profile even when there's nothing in it? If you do prove you're right, he'll feel vulnerable and run like hell. Perhaps he'll even exclude you from any further information on the Samson case. You want to run that risk?' She shifted her posture in the chair as she mentally took up the other side of the argument. 'But if you allow him to be right, claim you can't psychologize him, he'll think that you're not qualified to talk with Eric Delko. He seems to think there's something wrong with not wanting to psych anyone. Okay, I never said I didn't 'want to.' Ah! But he heard otherwise. And as far as he's concerned, 'you does your duty, no matter what'. By his lights, if I didn't want to do the whole job here, I should have refused it entirely.'
Sally considered her arguments. 'Great! He's got me into a corner! I prove me right and he'll avoid me, possibly deny me the satisfaction of working on that Samson case. On the other hand, if I allow him to be right, he'll have no respect for me and so, avoid me and possibly deny me the satisfaction of working on that Samson case!'
Sally grabbed her notebook and thrust it into her pocket as she decisively rose to her feet. 'You're just mad because this wasn't easy! There was little information in the file and that's that. There's a good answer in this little puzzle, someplace, an answer that will satisfy both him and my manipulative little heart. Meanwhile, drop it!'
Taking her own advice, she picked up Horatio's file and left her office. She casually strolled down the hall and into a room which only she and a few others had legal entry; the police employee file room. In the super modern building, this was the only remnant of the 'old ways' of doing things. The information in employees' files had yet to be entered into the Florida Law Enforcement Databanks. She knew it was in process and that it was a matter of time until this room would be emptied of files and converted to some other purpose.
To get into the room, she had to use her ID badge and allow a retina scan. Once inside, she found Caine's employee file folder and again ignored the temptation to take a peek. Like everyone with access to these files, anyone who was not a licensed psychologist or psychiatrist could not legally access the psych file. In the same way, she wasn't supposed to look at his work file unless he offered complete permission. He'd only given her permission to look at his psych file and she was honor bound not to push that limitation. Eventually, when the information was entered into computers, she would automatically be locked out and no such temptation would be available. Not that gaining information would give her any insight above and beyond what she had already. Knowing his badge number in New York or his length of time in blues or in plain clothes would only give context in a dimension she didn't really need.
TBC
Like any writer, I live for comments, good or bad. Thank you.
Author's note: for the background of how/why Horatio shot his father, please refer to my story: Mother Love.
