"Gonna find out who's naughty and nice."
Haven Gillespie, "Santa Claus Is Coming to Town"
***
Horatio re-entered the barn and nearly ran into Adele on her way out. "Looking for me?"
"Yes." She glanced back down the aisle at Sam, still working with Speed. "What do you make of them?"
"I think they're both telling the truth." No doubt at all, in fact.
Adele nodded. "We'll run background checks on both of them, but I agree. It's just going through the motions." The person to find any body was automatically checked out, but in this case, they were both sure the answer was elsewhere. "Access is the main question. I've got a list of the boarders, and I'm going to question them. What do you make of the lock?"
"First class system, but they've been careless with it. The code hasn't been changed in ten months. The boarders all probably have it written down somewhere in their houses or purses, so no telling how many people have it at this point. We'll contact the security company and get a log of entry times for last night. Calleigh's trying for fingerprints, too."
"Well, I'm heading back downtown. I'll contact the boarders and start talking to people. Let me know what Alexx says."
"Will do. I'm going to have a thorough look around here. We're still missing the primary crime scene. That body was dumped in the stall."
"See you later, then."
"Right." Adele headed out, and Horatio walked down the aisle to the stall. "How's it going, Eric?"
The CSI looked up. "Slow, H. All the straw in here, and I don't want to miss anything hidden in it. This is definitely staged, though." He grinned at his supervisor. "First stall I've ever processed."
"I'll see that you get your merit badge." He walked down to the crossties. Speed was closing his field kit, and Sam had uncoiled a water hose and was hosing off the horse's legs, using a stiff brush to help get the dried blood off. "Speed, what have you got?"
"Definitely not spatter. I also found two hairs and a fiber in the blood. Not hair from the horse, but I took some of that, too, for comparison. Someone smeared the blood on his legs. Also, there's none on his shoes. Not even a trace."
"That tells us something, anyway. This scene was staged by someone who didn't have time to really think it out." He considered for a minute. "We're still looking for the primary crime scene, though. And Alexx did think it could have been a horseshoe. Just to cover all the bases, I want you to look at every horse in this barn and check all the shoes for blood traces."
Speed's expression never changed much, but his jaw actually dropped slightly at this. "You're kidding, H, right?" He eyed his boss hopefully. Hope was fleeting. "You're not kidding."
Sam, who had been eavesdropping unashamedly, spoke up. "I think someone else had better do it. He really doesn't like them, and horses pick up on that. And Val here is as easy as it gets. Everyone else in the barn will be harder. I'll help, but they read people like a book. He's liable to get stepped on or even kicked."
Horatio relented. "Okay. We'll get someone else. Speed, help Eric in the stall." Speed departed quickly before his boss could change his mind. Horatio turned to Sam. "I wanted to ask you about that. You said earlier that Val was the gentlest horse in the barn. How hard would it be to carry a dead body into a stall and then smear blood on a horse's legs?"
"Very. Horses are frightened by the smell of blood. Throwback to the wild; they associate it with predators. Even Val was jumpy this morning, and he's a 10-year-old girl's pet."
"What would a horse do if I tried it?"
"Most of them would run around the stall and bounce off the walls. They want to run when they're scared, and caught in a 12 x 12 stall, there's no room. You'd need help. At least one more person, to hold the horse while you put on the blood. And the horse would be hard to catch. Most of them wouldn't hurt a person deliberately, but you'd probably get run over trying to arrange things. You'd sure get stepped on trying to put on the blood. We've got at least two who would tackle you straight. Fortitude, our stallion, might really wind up killing you, and Chrissy would kick you clear to Texas."
Horatio met her eyes squarely, letting her feel the significance of the question. "So you don't think it's coincidence that it was Val?"
"No way. I think he's the only possible choice."
"How many people would know that?"
"He's owned by the 10-year-old daughter of one of our other boarders. It wasn't a secret. Anyone around the barn would know him. Probably most of her school friends would know about him. Not that they would kill anyone, but word could get around. And every stall here has a name plate."
"Thank you. I would advise you to change the lock code on this barn. Today, in fact." She nodded. "And for the moment, while we're investigating, don't give the new code to any of the boarders." A much longer pause, while her feelings fought what she knew were the facts, and then she nodded again, reluctantly. "If you could help with a shoe inspection, I'd appreciate it."
"No problem." Her expression was bleak. She had already started running through a list of her clients and friends mentally, considering each one as a candidate for murderer.
"It's probably not one of the boarders directly, more likely a friend or associate, but that's got to be the route of information."
She refused the sympathy in his voice, squaring her shoulders. Whatever life threw at this woman, he thought, she would meet directly. "I need to take Val outside and put him in the pasture. You still need his stall. I'll be back in a minute." She unsnapped the cross ties and led the gray horse toward the door.
Horatio started down the aisle to look for Calleigh. Hooves rang on the concrete as Lisa and Chrissy turned into the aisle from the passage to the arena and started down toward him. Lisa stopped the horse. "Have you found out anything yet?" she asked hopefully.
"Bits and pieces. It takes a while." He stepped up to the horse, approaching from the side, not the front. "I'd like to see her shoes, please."
Lisa reached out and put a hand on Chrissy's left foreleg. "Foot, Chris," she said, and the horse instantly offered her hoof for inspection, standing easily on three legs. Horatio made sure her eye was on him, then bent over, taking the hoof in his hands, carefully studying the steel shoe. No blood, no traces of flesh. Oh well, he often thought that 90% of CSI work was process of elimination. He released the hoof and stepped to another leg, putting his hand on it. "Foot," he said, gently but firmly, and the horse, after a second's hesitation, gave it to him. He worked his way around her four legs, finding nothing, and straightened up after the fourth one to find Speed's eyes on him from further down the aisle. Speed instantly went back to dusting the latch of the stall door for prints.
"Can I put her up now?" asked Lisa.
"Yes. Thank you. I'd like to look around the barn more myself, but you can go on with your work." Calleigh entered the barn again. "Calleigh, I was just about to go looking for you. I've got an assignment that's right up your alley."
"Guns?" she asked hopefully.
"No. Shoes."
***
A thorough search of the barn only revealed how large and unobtrusively elaborate the place was. To Horatio's trained eyes, nothing looked like a crime scene. He would have to ask Alexx, but he was sure that there would be blood spatter at the site where the man had died. As he searched the last side passage, he suddenly broke into a grin. On the door ahead was a sign reading "Feed Room," and below that was another with the motto of the U.S. Post Office: "Neither snow, nor rain, nor heat, nor gloom of night stays these couriers from the swift completion of their appointed rounds." Nor murder, he added mentally. He remembered talking to a man once who had been raised on a farm and had run to the city as soon as he was old enough to leave home. "You know what a farm is?" the man had asked him. "Jail without bars, that's what it is." Horatio opened the door carefully, wearing gloves, but there was no crime scene here either. Just a long feed bin against the wall and a shelf with jars and buckets above it. The feed bin contained only grain, the jars only horse supplements. On the other wall of the room was a couch with a small table next to it. Four books were on the table, and he picked them up curiously. A Dick Francis mystery, the Complete Works of Shakespeare, I Heard the Owl Call My Name, and the Epic of Gilgamesh. Interesting selection, but still no crime scene. He put the books down and headed for the main aisle again.
Calleigh was just coming down the aisle. "Any luck shopping for shoes?" he asked her.
"None in our size."
"Let's check in with the boys and head back to CSI. Our main crime scene is still missing." They walked together down to the stall. "How's it going, gentlemen?"
"We've still got a few hours here, I'd say," said Eric.
"We'll meet you back at CSI, then. Keep me posted if you find anything interesting."
"Will do," said Eric. Horatio and Calleigh headed out, and Eric turned back to the stall with a sigh. He had never realized just how much straw was in a stall, not to mention other unpleasant things. The careful search was paying off, though. They already had a couple of fibers.
Speed had straightened up for a minute while Horatio was standing there, and as he turned back to work, he noticed Chrissy. The mare was in the stall directly across the aisle, and she had her head over her stall door, looking at him with an expression that spoke as clearly as words: "I know my pedigree, but what is yours?"
"What are you looking at?" scowled Speed.
"What?" Eric looked up, puzzled.
"That horse keeps looking at us." Eric stood up and looked at Chrissy, then shrugged, always willing to let things just roll off him.
"Forget the horse. Listen, man, what are you doing for Christmas?"
Speed knelt to continue the slow combing through the straw. "I dunno. Work, probably. There's some stuff in the lab that needs catching up."
"You can't work on Christmas."
"Why not? Alexx is having us over on Christmas Eve, so I'll get my Christmas dinner. She'll probably even give me leftovers, so I can have it again at CSI."
"You can't spend it alone." Speed shrugged again and continued picking through the straw. "Why don't you come to family dinner with me?"
Speed looked up at that. "With your family?"
"They don't bite, you know. My dad can be a little tough, but they're good people, really."
Speed was touched at the offer, but part of him still hesitated. "Would they mind another person?"
"With my family? They probably won't even notice another person." The two friends grinned at each other.
"Okay, then. If you're sure it's alright." They returned their attention to the straw.
***
As the Hummer headed back into the city, Calleigh was sorting through the evidence thus far. The killers had parked on the far side of the barn. They had been wearing gloves; she hadn't gotten a clear set of prints off the lock pad. Probably, the dead body had been in their vehicle already, killed somewhere else. She had a cast of the tire tracks, and she would start looking for a match with what was left of this afternoon. But why take a body to a barn to dump? Why not just on the side of the road or in the woods somewhere?
She turned to Horatio to discuss it with him. Their minds worked together like flint, and bouncing the evidence back and forth between them could often strike sparks and shed some light on things. She hesitated, though, as she noticed his expression. His eyes were focused but not as intense as usual, his head tilted slightly. He was analyzing something, but the expression wasn't his usual consideration of a case. In fact, he almost looked like he was listening to distant music, listening the way he listened to music, sorting out the individual patterns that wove it into a whole.
"Hey, Handsome." He snapped back to himself and looked over at her. "Where were you?"
He hesitated, so unlike him that it got her attention. "Calleigh, have you ever seen a horse dance?"
"What?"
"The other partner was riding one of the horses to music when I went to question her. It was beautiful." He didn't call many things beautiful, but she couldn't picture it herself. He realized at once that this was failing in translation, a frustration he often ran into when he tried to explain his perceptions, even to Calleigh. "I guess you had to see it." His eyes hardened, focusing now on the case. "What would you say the main questions are here?"
"Why dump a body in a barn?"
"Right. Also, how did they know which horse was easiest to handle? Where is the information link? And if he wasn't killed here, where was he killed?"
Calleigh nodded. "And if he wasn't trampled by a horse, what did kill him?" They discussed the case the rest of the way back to CSI, but they weren't any further when they got there. No sparks yet.
***
Alexx touched the body on the steel table gently, compassionately, as if she didn't want her efforts to somehow hurt it beyond what had already been done. "He was hit in the back of the head. The first blow probably killed him, but the killer took two or three more for good measure. The whole back of the skull is crushed in. He probably never felt it, at least."
Horatio considered. "In the back of the head. A horse might kick him there, but hardly three or four times in the identical spot. No further injuries?"
"Nothing. No bruises anywhere. I did find what looked like some kind of wood fiber in the wound. I sent it to trace."
"Wood. No steel?"
"No. I'm not sure if a horseshoe would leave steel traces, though. You might expect straw, maybe. I've never worked on anyone trampled to death by a horse before."
"You still haven't," said Horatio. "Thank you, Alexx." He headed out of the autopsy room and went toward the main lab. Calleigh was sitting in front of a computer, totally focused, her lips tightened in determination, and he watched her through the glass for a moment before entering, still captivated by everything that was, unbelievably, his. She felt him watching her, of course. She looked up with her progress is too slow expression, and he entered the lab to look over her shoulder at the results. "No match on the tires?"
"Not yet, but I haven't been working at it long. I talked to the lock company. The system was locked and set at 9:45 last night, unlocked this morning at 1:45 AM, and not unlocked again until 8:00 this morning. It's not unheard of to have people come in at the middle of the night, and the code was right, so they never questioned it."
"1:45. That storm was almost over then."
"Right. No moonlight, though. Perfect weather to hide a body."
"They didn't hide it." Horatio frowned in concentration. "Why put it there?"
"To make it look like a horse did it."
"Doesn't explain the code, or them knowing which horse to pick. This is too elaborate to be set up after the killing. Staging a trampling was set up in a hurry, or they would have done a better job of it, but they already knew about the barn in the first place. There are easier ways to dump a body if that's all you want to do. But I searched that whole barn. Why would they want to go there? What is it about that place?" His cell phone rang, and he gave her a half smile of apology as he turned his attention away from her. His side of the conversation didn't tell her anything. "Adele," he said as he snapped the phone shut. "She wants to talk to me. Are the boys back yet?"
"Not yet. That stall was going to take a while. I almost felt sorry for Speed today."
Horatio grinned at her. "So did I. Almost." The formal, courteous, always collected Horatio Caine had an imp hidden inside of him that peeked out at rare times, and Calleigh knew that he had assigned Speed to the horse deliberately. Speed was the best trace expert, but still, Eric could have done it, and wouldn't have been bothered by it. In fact, Eric would have made it a joke on himself and laughed along with them. "I'd better get over to Adele," he said, the playful light fading out of his eyes. "Didn't you have something you were going to do tonight?"
"Going shopping. Still . . . " She looked at the computer, hesitating.
"It's already 6:00, and we aren't going to finish this case tonight anyway. We've got a long way to go yet. Go on, and I'll meet you at home."
She pushed her work together into a fairly neat pile, straightened up, and stood on tiptoe to kiss him. "See you there, then. First one home cooks dinner."
"Deal. What are you going shopping for?"
"None of your business," she said pertly. "At least, not yet."
***
Adele handed the computer printouts over to Horatio. "Background check on the two partners and the stable was quite interesting."
"Really?" He hadn't expected anything there. He started reading the first paper, background police records check on Lisa Wilson, and his eyes stopped abruptly and hardened. He looked up and met the same sympathetic fury in Adele's. "She was attacked and raped a few years ago."
"Right. Never caught the perp. Poor woman."
Horatio finished reading the case summary. He remembered the faint hesitation in her that afternoon as she faced a strange man. It had vanished as soon as her attention became focused on the horse, but that first impression had struck him at the time. He remembered his second impression, too, that there was a lot more strength behind the hesitancy than you might expect, and hoped that it was true. He finished the police report and flipped to the next page.
"Samantha Winters," Adele summarized. "Now this one is interesting. She has no police record at all herself, but she's rich."
"Winters Department Store," said Horatio, the light dawning.
"Right. That's her father. So when they set up the stable, the partnership agreement and all the paperwork was filed, everything in order. Except that Sam put up 100% of the capital and by contract covers all expenses for any non profit years. Lisa, on the other hand, entered with no considerations at all listed, has no obligations listed for future years, and they still split all profits 50/50. Sam paid for everything. The facility, all the horses. And it easily cost a million to build that barn. Under that contract, Lisa doesn't have to contribute anything, then or now. All it says is that profits, if there are any, will be split equally."
Horatio's eyebrow arched slightly. "That's an interesting concept of partnership. They really seemed to work as a team, though. And you should see Lisa ride. She's good with the horses."
"I agree, it seemed like a good working relationship. It's just odd."
"Being odd isn't a crime," Horatio reminded her. "Fortunately for a lot of us. What else do you have?"
"I've been contacting the boarders, setting up appointments to talk to them tomorrow. Except for one. The woman and her daughter you asked about, the ones who own Valentine, are out of town for the holidays. I spoke to the housesitter."
"Let's talk to the housesitter, then." She eyed him dubiously. "Someone came across that entry code and used it for another reason. A housesitter is as good a candidate as any at this point. In fact, I'd vote against any of the horse set directly. They would have remembered to put blood on the bottom of the shoes."
Adele nodded thoughtfully. "Okay, I'll set up an appointment with the housesitter. It'll be tomorrow, though."
"Tomorrow is soon enough. We aren't anywhere near done processing the evidence. This isn't a one day case. Unfortunately." He stood up. "See you tomorrow, Adele."
"Good night, H."
***
Calleigh exited the mall with a shopping bag in hand, actually humming a Christmas tune until she caught herself at it. Buying a gift for Horatio had been fun, though. It was years until she had put that kind of effort into any Christmas gift. Years since anyone in her life had been worth it. She still remembered the admiring appraisal in his eyes as they stood face- to-face after the sniper had been arrested. She said she didn't look good in black, and Horatio stepped tantalizingly just past professionalism as he surveyed her and said silkily, "I beg to differ." The words had given her chills at the time, when she never dared to hope he could be anything other than her boss. Now, she had the freedom to follow up on them. Her shopping bag contained a matching set in black silk, a negligee for her, boxers for him. "You don't look bad in black yourself, Handsome," she said to the parking lot in general.
"Calleigh?" She turned toward the voice.
"Marie! I haven't seen you in. . . " Actually she hadn't seen her since Janet Medrano's funeral, but she remembered that just in time to avoid saying it.
"You look great!" They hugged each other, the intervening months instantly forgotten.
"Mom!" An 8-year-old did an impatient dance toward the mall.
"Just a minute, Ben." Marie turned back to Calleigh. "So how are things with you? I got the wedding invitation, but we weren't in town that weekend."
"Things are wonderful." Calleigh's eyes spoke louder than her voice, and Marie hugged her again.
"I'm so happy for you."
"So how's Philip?" To Calleigh's horror, Marie's eyes filled up with tears, which she bravely tried and almost succeeded at containing. "What is it? Is Philip . . . "
"He ran away with his secretary."
"He WHAT!?!" Calleigh would have been less shocked if he had been dead.
"He ran away with his secretary. Two months ago. Just like in all the stories."
"But you'd been married for ten years."
"Eleven. I couldn't believe it. He was actually seeing her for six of them. I tell you, Calleigh, don't ever trust a man. You may think you know them, but . . . oh, I didn't mean you. I'm sure Horatio. . ." She broke off suddenly, flustered.
"Mom!" Ben galloped back toward them and tried to drag his mother along physically.
"We'll have lunch some time, okay?" suggested Calleigh.
"Right. I'd like that. And Merry Christmas." The tone was bravely determined, but Calleigh heard the pain behind it.
"Merry Christmas," she called after them. As she opened her car door, she wasn't humming any longer.
***
Calleigh was awakened by the thump downstairs. With a 7-year-old's version of stealth, she crept out of her bedroom. Would she actually catch Santa Claus? She went down the stairs on tiptoe, then teetered to a stop at the edge of the last step. The Christmas tree in the living room was brightly lit, but there was something new underneath it. Her father lay sprawled full length, a bottle still clutched tightly in his hand, lying where he had fallen when he tripped. With a gasp, Calleigh realized in horror which box he had fallen directly on. The teacher had asked them to make houses out of popsicle sticks and make stick families to put in them. She had spent a lot of time on hers, making the family she wished she had, decorating the house to make it happy, and the teacher had praised it so much and insisted that she give it to her parents. She even helped Calleigh find a box and wrap it. Now, Calleigh's father was collapsed heavily across it, the flattened box protruding a bit, a pitiful piece of ribbon sticking out in a desperate attempt to still look happy. Without a sound, Calleigh crept back up the stairs. She waited until her door was safely closed behind her to give way to tears. Then, she flung herself on her bed and sobbed, remembering that perfect, happy family she had worked so hard to create, now hopelessly smashed. She would never have them again.
"Calleigh." Her father was coming to blame her for the mess. No wait, not her father's voice. This voice was full of concern, not condemnation. Hands gripped her gently. Not her father's hands, either, for his hands had never known gentleness. Regret sometimes, but never gentleness.
"Horatio." She collapsed against him, sobbing into his chest, and he held her tightly, rocking her slightly like a child.
"Shh, it's okay. It was just a dream. You're awake now." He stroked her hair softly, just holding her until she had cried herself out. She finally unburied herself from his chest, sniffling a bit, then turned on the bedside lamp, and met his eyes. He slid over and put his arm around her, pulling her head onto his shoulder. He didn't push her. He was simply there for her, ready to talk if she wanted, ready to be silent if she wanted that, too.
"I was dreaming about Christmas, when I was seven," she started hesitantly. He listened without comment through the dream, then threw back the covers, sliding into his robe, handing her hers.
"Horatio, what are you doing? It's chilly in here."
"So put your robe on." She did, and he came around to her side of the bed to pull her to her feet.
"What are you doing?"
"We're going to the living room to look at the Christmas tree."
Calleigh pulled back. "Horatio, that's just crazy. I'm okay now. I know it's not like that here."
"So let me convince myself. You wouldn't want me to dream about it now, would you?" He wrapped his arm warmly around her, leading her down the hall. She was half laughing now.
"Horatio, this is ridiculous. It was a dream. I know that." They passed a digital clock. "It's 2:00 AM. Come on, let's get back in bed, and you can warm me up." He smiled at the implied invitation, but he never broke his smooth progress down the hall. They entered the living room, and he led her to the middle, then stopped.
"Look around," he said almost urgently. She did. The Christmas tree in the corner was glowing softly, highlighting each ornament they had put on together last weekend. The presents underneath were pristine, the ribbons and bows standing up happily. The light from the tree illuminated the living room dimly, making the furniture stand out as friendly, familiar shadows. Horatio gripped Calleigh's face gently between his two hands and turned her back to face him. "You see, it was all a dream. Just a bad dream. But you're awake now."
She stared at his eyes, shining like diamonds in the Christmas tree lights. Without a word, she collapsed against him, hugging him fiercely, squeezing him to convince herself of the reality, and the reality reached out and squeezed her back, and she wasn't cold anymore.
Haven Gillespie, "Santa Claus Is Coming to Town"
***
Horatio re-entered the barn and nearly ran into Adele on her way out. "Looking for me?"
"Yes." She glanced back down the aisle at Sam, still working with Speed. "What do you make of them?"
"I think they're both telling the truth." No doubt at all, in fact.
Adele nodded. "We'll run background checks on both of them, but I agree. It's just going through the motions." The person to find any body was automatically checked out, but in this case, they were both sure the answer was elsewhere. "Access is the main question. I've got a list of the boarders, and I'm going to question them. What do you make of the lock?"
"First class system, but they've been careless with it. The code hasn't been changed in ten months. The boarders all probably have it written down somewhere in their houses or purses, so no telling how many people have it at this point. We'll contact the security company and get a log of entry times for last night. Calleigh's trying for fingerprints, too."
"Well, I'm heading back downtown. I'll contact the boarders and start talking to people. Let me know what Alexx says."
"Will do. I'm going to have a thorough look around here. We're still missing the primary crime scene. That body was dumped in the stall."
"See you later, then."
"Right." Adele headed out, and Horatio walked down the aisle to the stall. "How's it going, Eric?"
The CSI looked up. "Slow, H. All the straw in here, and I don't want to miss anything hidden in it. This is definitely staged, though." He grinned at his supervisor. "First stall I've ever processed."
"I'll see that you get your merit badge." He walked down to the crossties. Speed was closing his field kit, and Sam had uncoiled a water hose and was hosing off the horse's legs, using a stiff brush to help get the dried blood off. "Speed, what have you got?"
"Definitely not spatter. I also found two hairs and a fiber in the blood. Not hair from the horse, but I took some of that, too, for comparison. Someone smeared the blood on his legs. Also, there's none on his shoes. Not even a trace."
"That tells us something, anyway. This scene was staged by someone who didn't have time to really think it out." He considered for a minute. "We're still looking for the primary crime scene, though. And Alexx did think it could have been a horseshoe. Just to cover all the bases, I want you to look at every horse in this barn and check all the shoes for blood traces."
Speed's expression never changed much, but his jaw actually dropped slightly at this. "You're kidding, H, right?" He eyed his boss hopefully. Hope was fleeting. "You're not kidding."
Sam, who had been eavesdropping unashamedly, spoke up. "I think someone else had better do it. He really doesn't like them, and horses pick up on that. And Val here is as easy as it gets. Everyone else in the barn will be harder. I'll help, but they read people like a book. He's liable to get stepped on or even kicked."
Horatio relented. "Okay. We'll get someone else. Speed, help Eric in the stall." Speed departed quickly before his boss could change his mind. Horatio turned to Sam. "I wanted to ask you about that. You said earlier that Val was the gentlest horse in the barn. How hard would it be to carry a dead body into a stall and then smear blood on a horse's legs?"
"Very. Horses are frightened by the smell of blood. Throwback to the wild; they associate it with predators. Even Val was jumpy this morning, and he's a 10-year-old girl's pet."
"What would a horse do if I tried it?"
"Most of them would run around the stall and bounce off the walls. They want to run when they're scared, and caught in a 12 x 12 stall, there's no room. You'd need help. At least one more person, to hold the horse while you put on the blood. And the horse would be hard to catch. Most of them wouldn't hurt a person deliberately, but you'd probably get run over trying to arrange things. You'd sure get stepped on trying to put on the blood. We've got at least two who would tackle you straight. Fortitude, our stallion, might really wind up killing you, and Chrissy would kick you clear to Texas."
Horatio met her eyes squarely, letting her feel the significance of the question. "So you don't think it's coincidence that it was Val?"
"No way. I think he's the only possible choice."
"How many people would know that?"
"He's owned by the 10-year-old daughter of one of our other boarders. It wasn't a secret. Anyone around the barn would know him. Probably most of her school friends would know about him. Not that they would kill anyone, but word could get around. And every stall here has a name plate."
"Thank you. I would advise you to change the lock code on this barn. Today, in fact." She nodded. "And for the moment, while we're investigating, don't give the new code to any of the boarders." A much longer pause, while her feelings fought what she knew were the facts, and then she nodded again, reluctantly. "If you could help with a shoe inspection, I'd appreciate it."
"No problem." Her expression was bleak. She had already started running through a list of her clients and friends mentally, considering each one as a candidate for murderer.
"It's probably not one of the boarders directly, more likely a friend or associate, but that's got to be the route of information."
She refused the sympathy in his voice, squaring her shoulders. Whatever life threw at this woman, he thought, she would meet directly. "I need to take Val outside and put him in the pasture. You still need his stall. I'll be back in a minute." She unsnapped the cross ties and led the gray horse toward the door.
Horatio started down the aisle to look for Calleigh. Hooves rang on the concrete as Lisa and Chrissy turned into the aisle from the passage to the arena and started down toward him. Lisa stopped the horse. "Have you found out anything yet?" she asked hopefully.
"Bits and pieces. It takes a while." He stepped up to the horse, approaching from the side, not the front. "I'd like to see her shoes, please."
Lisa reached out and put a hand on Chrissy's left foreleg. "Foot, Chris," she said, and the horse instantly offered her hoof for inspection, standing easily on three legs. Horatio made sure her eye was on him, then bent over, taking the hoof in his hands, carefully studying the steel shoe. No blood, no traces of flesh. Oh well, he often thought that 90% of CSI work was process of elimination. He released the hoof and stepped to another leg, putting his hand on it. "Foot," he said, gently but firmly, and the horse, after a second's hesitation, gave it to him. He worked his way around her four legs, finding nothing, and straightened up after the fourth one to find Speed's eyes on him from further down the aisle. Speed instantly went back to dusting the latch of the stall door for prints.
"Can I put her up now?" asked Lisa.
"Yes. Thank you. I'd like to look around the barn more myself, but you can go on with your work." Calleigh entered the barn again. "Calleigh, I was just about to go looking for you. I've got an assignment that's right up your alley."
"Guns?" she asked hopefully.
"No. Shoes."
***
A thorough search of the barn only revealed how large and unobtrusively elaborate the place was. To Horatio's trained eyes, nothing looked like a crime scene. He would have to ask Alexx, but he was sure that there would be blood spatter at the site where the man had died. As he searched the last side passage, he suddenly broke into a grin. On the door ahead was a sign reading "Feed Room," and below that was another with the motto of the U.S. Post Office: "Neither snow, nor rain, nor heat, nor gloom of night stays these couriers from the swift completion of their appointed rounds." Nor murder, he added mentally. He remembered talking to a man once who had been raised on a farm and had run to the city as soon as he was old enough to leave home. "You know what a farm is?" the man had asked him. "Jail without bars, that's what it is." Horatio opened the door carefully, wearing gloves, but there was no crime scene here either. Just a long feed bin against the wall and a shelf with jars and buckets above it. The feed bin contained only grain, the jars only horse supplements. On the other wall of the room was a couch with a small table next to it. Four books were on the table, and he picked them up curiously. A Dick Francis mystery, the Complete Works of Shakespeare, I Heard the Owl Call My Name, and the Epic of Gilgamesh. Interesting selection, but still no crime scene. He put the books down and headed for the main aisle again.
Calleigh was just coming down the aisle. "Any luck shopping for shoes?" he asked her.
"None in our size."
"Let's check in with the boys and head back to CSI. Our main crime scene is still missing." They walked together down to the stall. "How's it going, gentlemen?"
"We've still got a few hours here, I'd say," said Eric.
"We'll meet you back at CSI, then. Keep me posted if you find anything interesting."
"Will do," said Eric. Horatio and Calleigh headed out, and Eric turned back to the stall with a sigh. He had never realized just how much straw was in a stall, not to mention other unpleasant things. The careful search was paying off, though. They already had a couple of fibers.
Speed had straightened up for a minute while Horatio was standing there, and as he turned back to work, he noticed Chrissy. The mare was in the stall directly across the aisle, and she had her head over her stall door, looking at him with an expression that spoke as clearly as words: "I know my pedigree, but what is yours?"
"What are you looking at?" scowled Speed.
"What?" Eric looked up, puzzled.
"That horse keeps looking at us." Eric stood up and looked at Chrissy, then shrugged, always willing to let things just roll off him.
"Forget the horse. Listen, man, what are you doing for Christmas?"
Speed knelt to continue the slow combing through the straw. "I dunno. Work, probably. There's some stuff in the lab that needs catching up."
"You can't work on Christmas."
"Why not? Alexx is having us over on Christmas Eve, so I'll get my Christmas dinner. She'll probably even give me leftovers, so I can have it again at CSI."
"You can't spend it alone." Speed shrugged again and continued picking through the straw. "Why don't you come to family dinner with me?"
Speed looked up at that. "With your family?"
"They don't bite, you know. My dad can be a little tough, but they're good people, really."
Speed was touched at the offer, but part of him still hesitated. "Would they mind another person?"
"With my family? They probably won't even notice another person." The two friends grinned at each other.
"Okay, then. If you're sure it's alright." They returned their attention to the straw.
***
As the Hummer headed back into the city, Calleigh was sorting through the evidence thus far. The killers had parked on the far side of the barn. They had been wearing gloves; she hadn't gotten a clear set of prints off the lock pad. Probably, the dead body had been in their vehicle already, killed somewhere else. She had a cast of the tire tracks, and she would start looking for a match with what was left of this afternoon. But why take a body to a barn to dump? Why not just on the side of the road or in the woods somewhere?
She turned to Horatio to discuss it with him. Their minds worked together like flint, and bouncing the evidence back and forth between them could often strike sparks and shed some light on things. She hesitated, though, as she noticed his expression. His eyes were focused but not as intense as usual, his head tilted slightly. He was analyzing something, but the expression wasn't his usual consideration of a case. In fact, he almost looked like he was listening to distant music, listening the way he listened to music, sorting out the individual patterns that wove it into a whole.
"Hey, Handsome." He snapped back to himself and looked over at her. "Where were you?"
He hesitated, so unlike him that it got her attention. "Calleigh, have you ever seen a horse dance?"
"What?"
"The other partner was riding one of the horses to music when I went to question her. It was beautiful." He didn't call many things beautiful, but she couldn't picture it herself. He realized at once that this was failing in translation, a frustration he often ran into when he tried to explain his perceptions, even to Calleigh. "I guess you had to see it." His eyes hardened, focusing now on the case. "What would you say the main questions are here?"
"Why dump a body in a barn?"
"Right. Also, how did they know which horse was easiest to handle? Where is the information link? And if he wasn't killed here, where was he killed?"
Calleigh nodded. "And if he wasn't trampled by a horse, what did kill him?" They discussed the case the rest of the way back to CSI, but they weren't any further when they got there. No sparks yet.
***
Alexx touched the body on the steel table gently, compassionately, as if she didn't want her efforts to somehow hurt it beyond what had already been done. "He was hit in the back of the head. The first blow probably killed him, but the killer took two or three more for good measure. The whole back of the skull is crushed in. He probably never felt it, at least."
Horatio considered. "In the back of the head. A horse might kick him there, but hardly three or four times in the identical spot. No further injuries?"
"Nothing. No bruises anywhere. I did find what looked like some kind of wood fiber in the wound. I sent it to trace."
"Wood. No steel?"
"No. I'm not sure if a horseshoe would leave steel traces, though. You might expect straw, maybe. I've never worked on anyone trampled to death by a horse before."
"You still haven't," said Horatio. "Thank you, Alexx." He headed out of the autopsy room and went toward the main lab. Calleigh was sitting in front of a computer, totally focused, her lips tightened in determination, and he watched her through the glass for a moment before entering, still captivated by everything that was, unbelievably, his. She felt him watching her, of course. She looked up with her progress is too slow expression, and he entered the lab to look over her shoulder at the results. "No match on the tires?"
"Not yet, but I haven't been working at it long. I talked to the lock company. The system was locked and set at 9:45 last night, unlocked this morning at 1:45 AM, and not unlocked again until 8:00 this morning. It's not unheard of to have people come in at the middle of the night, and the code was right, so they never questioned it."
"1:45. That storm was almost over then."
"Right. No moonlight, though. Perfect weather to hide a body."
"They didn't hide it." Horatio frowned in concentration. "Why put it there?"
"To make it look like a horse did it."
"Doesn't explain the code, or them knowing which horse to pick. This is too elaborate to be set up after the killing. Staging a trampling was set up in a hurry, or they would have done a better job of it, but they already knew about the barn in the first place. There are easier ways to dump a body if that's all you want to do. But I searched that whole barn. Why would they want to go there? What is it about that place?" His cell phone rang, and he gave her a half smile of apology as he turned his attention away from her. His side of the conversation didn't tell her anything. "Adele," he said as he snapped the phone shut. "She wants to talk to me. Are the boys back yet?"
"Not yet. That stall was going to take a while. I almost felt sorry for Speed today."
Horatio grinned at her. "So did I. Almost." The formal, courteous, always collected Horatio Caine had an imp hidden inside of him that peeked out at rare times, and Calleigh knew that he had assigned Speed to the horse deliberately. Speed was the best trace expert, but still, Eric could have done it, and wouldn't have been bothered by it. In fact, Eric would have made it a joke on himself and laughed along with them. "I'd better get over to Adele," he said, the playful light fading out of his eyes. "Didn't you have something you were going to do tonight?"
"Going shopping. Still . . . " She looked at the computer, hesitating.
"It's already 6:00, and we aren't going to finish this case tonight anyway. We've got a long way to go yet. Go on, and I'll meet you at home."
She pushed her work together into a fairly neat pile, straightened up, and stood on tiptoe to kiss him. "See you there, then. First one home cooks dinner."
"Deal. What are you going shopping for?"
"None of your business," she said pertly. "At least, not yet."
***
Adele handed the computer printouts over to Horatio. "Background check on the two partners and the stable was quite interesting."
"Really?" He hadn't expected anything there. He started reading the first paper, background police records check on Lisa Wilson, and his eyes stopped abruptly and hardened. He looked up and met the same sympathetic fury in Adele's. "She was attacked and raped a few years ago."
"Right. Never caught the perp. Poor woman."
Horatio finished reading the case summary. He remembered the faint hesitation in her that afternoon as she faced a strange man. It had vanished as soon as her attention became focused on the horse, but that first impression had struck him at the time. He remembered his second impression, too, that there was a lot more strength behind the hesitancy than you might expect, and hoped that it was true. He finished the police report and flipped to the next page.
"Samantha Winters," Adele summarized. "Now this one is interesting. She has no police record at all herself, but she's rich."
"Winters Department Store," said Horatio, the light dawning.
"Right. That's her father. So when they set up the stable, the partnership agreement and all the paperwork was filed, everything in order. Except that Sam put up 100% of the capital and by contract covers all expenses for any non profit years. Lisa, on the other hand, entered with no considerations at all listed, has no obligations listed for future years, and they still split all profits 50/50. Sam paid for everything. The facility, all the horses. And it easily cost a million to build that barn. Under that contract, Lisa doesn't have to contribute anything, then or now. All it says is that profits, if there are any, will be split equally."
Horatio's eyebrow arched slightly. "That's an interesting concept of partnership. They really seemed to work as a team, though. And you should see Lisa ride. She's good with the horses."
"I agree, it seemed like a good working relationship. It's just odd."
"Being odd isn't a crime," Horatio reminded her. "Fortunately for a lot of us. What else do you have?"
"I've been contacting the boarders, setting up appointments to talk to them tomorrow. Except for one. The woman and her daughter you asked about, the ones who own Valentine, are out of town for the holidays. I spoke to the housesitter."
"Let's talk to the housesitter, then." She eyed him dubiously. "Someone came across that entry code and used it for another reason. A housesitter is as good a candidate as any at this point. In fact, I'd vote against any of the horse set directly. They would have remembered to put blood on the bottom of the shoes."
Adele nodded thoughtfully. "Okay, I'll set up an appointment with the housesitter. It'll be tomorrow, though."
"Tomorrow is soon enough. We aren't anywhere near done processing the evidence. This isn't a one day case. Unfortunately." He stood up. "See you tomorrow, Adele."
"Good night, H."
***
Calleigh exited the mall with a shopping bag in hand, actually humming a Christmas tune until she caught herself at it. Buying a gift for Horatio had been fun, though. It was years until she had put that kind of effort into any Christmas gift. Years since anyone in her life had been worth it. She still remembered the admiring appraisal in his eyes as they stood face- to-face after the sniper had been arrested. She said she didn't look good in black, and Horatio stepped tantalizingly just past professionalism as he surveyed her and said silkily, "I beg to differ." The words had given her chills at the time, when she never dared to hope he could be anything other than her boss. Now, she had the freedom to follow up on them. Her shopping bag contained a matching set in black silk, a negligee for her, boxers for him. "You don't look bad in black yourself, Handsome," she said to the parking lot in general.
"Calleigh?" She turned toward the voice.
"Marie! I haven't seen you in. . . " Actually she hadn't seen her since Janet Medrano's funeral, but she remembered that just in time to avoid saying it.
"You look great!" They hugged each other, the intervening months instantly forgotten.
"Mom!" An 8-year-old did an impatient dance toward the mall.
"Just a minute, Ben." Marie turned back to Calleigh. "So how are things with you? I got the wedding invitation, but we weren't in town that weekend."
"Things are wonderful." Calleigh's eyes spoke louder than her voice, and Marie hugged her again.
"I'm so happy for you."
"So how's Philip?" To Calleigh's horror, Marie's eyes filled up with tears, which she bravely tried and almost succeeded at containing. "What is it? Is Philip . . . "
"He ran away with his secretary."
"He WHAT!?!" Calleigh would have been less shocked if he had been dead.
"He ran away with his secretary. Two months ago. Just like in all the stories."
"But you'd been married for ten years."
"Eleven. I couldn't believe it. He was actually seeing her for six of them. I tell you, Calleigh, don't ever trust a man. You may think you know them, but . . . oh, I didn't mean you. I'm sure Horatio. . ." She broke off suddenly, flustered.
"Mom!" Ben galloped back toward them and tried to drag his mother along physically.
"We'll have lunch some time, okay?" suggested Calleigh.
"Right. I'd like that. And Merry Christmas." The tone was bravely determined, but Calleigh heard the pain behind it.
"Merry Christmas," she called after them. As she opened her car door, she wasn't humming any longer.
***
Calleigh was awakened by the thump downstairs. With a 7-year-old's version of stealth, she crept out of her bedroom. Would she actually catch Santa Claus? She went down the stairs on tiptoe, then teetered to a stop at the edge of the last step. The Christmas tree in the living room was brightly lit, but there was something new underneath it. Her father lay sprawled full length, a bottle still clutched tightly in his hand, lying where he had fallen when he tripped. With a gasp, Calleigh realized in horror which box he had fallen directly on. The teacher had asked them to make houses out of popsicle sticks and make stick families to put in them. She had spent a lot of time on hers, making the family she wished she had, decorating the house to make it happy, and the teacher had praised it so much and insisted that she give it to her parents. She even helped Calleigh find a box and wrap it. Now, Calleigh's father was collapsed heavily across it, the flattened box protruding a bit, a pitiful piece of ribbon sticking out in a desperate attempt to still look happy. Without a sound, Calleigh crept back up the stairs. She waited until her door was safely closed behind her to give way to tears. Then, she flung herself on her bed and sobbed, remembering that perfect, happy family she had worked so hard to create, now hopelessly smashed. She would never have them again.
"Calleigh." Her father was coming to blame her for the mess. No wait, not her father's voice. This voice was full of concern, not condemnation. Hands gripped her gently. Not her father's hands, either, for his hands had never known gentleness. Regret sometimes, but never gentleness.
"Horatio." She collapsed against him, sobbing into his chest, and he held her tightly, rocking her slightly like a child.
"Shh, it's okay. It was just a dream. You're awake now." He stroked her hair softly, just holding her until she had cried herself out. She finally unburied herself from his chest, sniffling a bit, then turned on the bedside lamp, and met his eyes. He slid over and put his arm around her, pulling her head onto his shoulder. He didn't push her. He was simply there for her, ready to talk if she wanted, ready to be silent if she wanted that, too.
"I was dreaming about Christmas, when I was seven," she started hesitantly. He listened without comment through the dream, then threw back the covers, sliding into his robe, handing her hers.
"Horatio, what are you doing? It's chilly in here."
"So put your robe on." She did, and he came around to her side of the bed to pull her to her feet.
"What are you doing?"
"We're going to the living room to look at the Christmas tree."
Calleigh pulled back. "Horatio, that's just crazy. I'm okay now. I know it's not like that here."
"So let me convince myself. You wouldn't want me to dream about it now, would you?" He wrapped his arm warmly around her, leading her down the hall. She was half laughing now.
"Horatio, this is ridiculous. It was a dream. I know that." They passed a digital clock. "It's 2:00 AM. Come on, let's get back in bed, and you can warm me up." He smiled at the implied invitation, but he never broke his smooth progress down the hall. They entered the living room, and he led her to the middle, then stopped.
"Look around," he said almost urgently. She did. The Christmas tree in the corner was glowing softly, highlighting each ornament they had put on together last weekend. The presents underneath were pristine, the ribbons and bows standing up happily. The light from the tree illuminated the living room dimly, making the furniture stand out as friendly, familiar shadows. Horatio gripped Calleigh's face gently between his two hands and turned her back to face him. "You see, it was all a dream. Just a bad dream. But you're awake now."
She stared at his eyes, shining like diamonds in the Christmas tree lights. Without a word, she collapsed against him, hugging him fiercely, squeezing him to convince herself of the reality, and the reality reached out and squeezed her back, and she wasn't cold anymore.