Here's part 3. See part 1 for Slightly Unusual Disclaimer and other fine
print. I forgot to mention in the S.U.D., Ruth is also real. I asked her
last night if she would mind having a small but important cameo in my
story. They say silence gives consent. You'll hate me for the
cliffhanger, but stopping it anywhere for the next bit would be a
cliffhanger. Everything to date has just been laying the groundwork. The
real plot is about to begin. Enjoy.
***
Then in despair I bowed my head. "There is no peace on earth," I said. "For hate is strong and mocks the song Of peace on earth, good will to men."
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, "I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day" (This was written at the height of the U.S. Civil War, in case you wonder what was eating him. Not a dark poem when you read all stanzas, though.)
***
Horatio pulled up to the barn about 9:00 the next morning to find an anthill swarming with activity. Several cars were in the parking area, and two horses were being ridden in the outdoor arena. He entered and ran into Sam almost instantly, heading down the aisle with a caddy of grooming tools in her hand. "Looking for me?"
"Yes, I was." He glanced around. The main aisle seemed fairly quiet compared to the cars outside. Sam followed his thought.
"Lisa's teaching a lesson in the indoor, so several people are there. And two of the boarders are riding outside. We've probably got 20 minutes, if it's private. As long as you don't mind if I groom while I talk. Yesterday's lessons were all doubled onto today, so it's a little hectic."
"No problem." He followed her down to where a horse was crosstied in one of the open stalls. "I wanted to take another look around this barn. I just have a feeling that we still don't have all the pieces here. First, though, I'd like to ask you a question. Nothing to do with the investigation. None of my business, in fact. Just curiosity."
Sam picked up the currycomb and started working on the horse with businesslike strokes. "You did a background check on us," she said without looking at him. "And you want to know why."
"Exactly." Horatio could never stand having a piece of a puzzle missing, directly tied to an investigation or not.
"Have you ever just thought someone deserved a break in life, Mr. Caine?" Her eyes were glued to the horse.
"Lots of times."
"Lisa was orphaned when she was nine when her parents were killed in a car accident. That's when she hurt her leg, too. Raised in a string of foster homes. I first met her when she was 15, when we took lessons at the same stable. She would clean stalls all week in exchange for one hour riding. So I decided to give her a break."
Horatio took a step toward her (on the side of the horse, not the front), focusing his intensity to make her look up. "Not good enough. No one builds a complex like this and sets up a business just to give someone a break. At least, you wouldn't. Why are you doing this for her?"
Sam met his eyes over the horse's neck. Again, he felt the strength of her personality, but there was a hint of wistfulness in her now, too. "Did you see Lisa riding yesterday?" He nodded. "What did you think of it?"
"Beautiful precision," he said instantly.
"Exactly. Beautiful precision." She went back to brushing the horse. "Dressage is an odd sport. It doesn't appeal to many people. If you want the adrenaline thrill, it's not there. But if you want beautiful precision, there's nothing else like it. Working with a living animal to get a partnership like that. It's an art form. It's been my dream all my life, to get to the highest level." She stopped brushing, again meeting his eyes. "And I'm never going to get there."
He understood instantly. "It's a gift."
"Right. All the lessons, all the money, all the physical ability in the world isn't enough. I'm a better athlete than Lisa. As far as I went, I learned it faster. She's had to fight for every inch. But if I took lessons from the world champion every day, I'd never improve past where I am now. And there was Lisa, in the same stable, working so hard for it. She has the God-given gift for this, and I don't. But I do have money, and that can sure make the road easier. So six years ago, we went into business so I could help her." She stepped to the other side of the horse and continued brushing. "It takes years, but she'll go all the way. You saw Chrissy?"
"Yes. I've never seen anything like that."
"She's 24 years old. When a horse gets past its prime competitively but is trained all the way to the top, the rider will sell to a rider who's still learning but is advanced enough to deal with the challenge. Chrissy's job right now is to give Lisa an education. We've had her a year, and the difference is amazing. But I can't ride her, myself. She's too trained to be easy to ride." She saw his slightly puzzled look. "You're confusing training with gentleness. Val is gentle. Chrissy is trained. It's like a fighter jet; it performs to a higher level, but it's much harder to fly. It demands more from the pilot. The more trained a horse gets, the harder they are to ride. If someone just casually grabbed Chrissy and jumped on, she'd out-buck a rodeo horse. She'd be offended at the poor rider's ignorance. It pushes Lisa to ride her. Over a year ago, she couldn't have. You should see our trainer ride her when she comes to give Lisa lessons. Now that's ballet."
"So you're fulfilling her dream." The puzzle pieces fit now.
"It's my dream, too. I just had to modify it a bit. As much as I can, I get to participate in this, and that's something I could never buy. She gives me more than I've ever given her."
She reminded him of his mother. Not at all physically, but the directness, the strength were the same. "You're a remarkable person," said Horatio sincerely.
She paused in her task again. Level gray eyes met his, facing facts squarely. "So is she. The world is full of remarkable people. You just have to open your eyes and look for them."
"Thank you for the explanation," said Horatio. He glanced at his watch. "I'd better get to work. I've got interviews today, and I want to look around this barn thoroughly again. You did change the lock code, right?"
"Did it yesterday. What do you have, Ruth?" This question was addressed to a black and white barn cat who was coming toward them, something shiny in her mouth, tail waving in a sinuous question mark. She padded up to Horatio and dropped her treasure at his feet, and he picked it up. It was a pen. He passed it to Sam.
"So that's where it went. My good pen vanished from the office last week." She stroked the cat with affectionate exasperation. "Ruth is a great hunter, but she's a thief. She steals things and hides them, then brings them back a few days later like she's doing us a favor. How's the investigation going?"
Horatio gave her credit for waiting so far into their conversation to ask him that question. It set her above most of the public. "It takes time. We've got several leads, though. The evidence will tell us what happened." Hooves clattered up the aisle as one of the boarders came in from outside. She fell into horsey conversation with Sam, and Horatio slipped away.
He couldn't shake the feeling that this barn was important, that it had meant something to the killers even aside from the murder. He combed through the entire place again, trying to see it not as a murder scene but as . . . something else. Hiding place? Not likely. The place was surprisingly clean for a barn and extremely organized. Ruth might hide things here, but people wouldn't have many options. Also, if today was any indication, there was too much traffic to make it safe. Rendezvous point, then? He stopped in one of the side passages, thinking. The barn was isolated but fairly close to the city. At night, no one would be likely to be disturbed. But what did it have that a remote patch of woods didn't? A mental puzzle piece clicked into place. Lights. The barn was well lit, but the lights wouldn't show to the outside world at night. If you wanted to have a meeting, an undisturbed meeting, with people you didn't trust enough to meet in shadows, this wasn't a bad option. Provided you had the entry code. He whipped out his cell phone.
"Calleigh Caine." His name attached to hers brought a smile to his face.
"Hello there, Beautiful."
"Hello yourself." He could hear her matching smile through her voice.
"I need you to check on something for me. Call the security company back and ask them if the barn was entered during the night for any night in the week preceding the murder."
"You think they were using it regularly?"
"I think they were using it for some purpose besides framing horses for murder. They already knew about this place, before the body."
"Will do, Handsome. Are you still out at the barn? I thought you were meeting Adele for interviews."
"I am. I'm leaving now."
"Cutting it fine, aren't you?"
"I talked to Sam first, before I started to search again."
She laughed. "You're incorrigible. Can't stand to not understand people, can you?"
"Guilty as charged. What's my sentence?"
"I'll think something up." She dropped back into professionalism. "I'll get to work on the lock."
"Thank you, Cal. See you later."
"Bye, Horatio." He loved how she could make his name sound. How on earth had he lived so many years without her?
Snapping back to himself and snapping the phone shut, he went back into the main aisle, then hesitated, one final thought demanding his attention. He walked down to Val's stall and eyed the leather halter with brass nameplate hanging on a hook in front of it. The stall had been thoroughly processed yesterday, but the halter had been on the horse. The killers would have had to put it on the horse, too. He studied it without touching it, then stepped across the aisle and picked up Chrissy's identical halter, noting in passing that her official name was Kristian Joy. He buckled it, then unbuckled it, noting the thick leather. Not at all easy to buckle, especially wearing gloves, especially for someone unused to handling one. The killers had worn gloves entering the lock code, but trying to buckle that halter onto a spooked horse would have required more dexterity. He replaced Chrissy's halter, pulled on latex gloves himself, and took Val's halter off its hook. He walked up the aisle to where Sam was grooming another horse. "I'd like to take Val's halter with me," he said. "You'll get it back eventually."
"Fine," she said. "We've got extras. You think it might have fingerprints?"
"Very likely. I think it would be hard to put one on a spooked horse wearing gloves." She considered this and nodded, and his cell phone rang.
"H, where are you? I'm about ready to start doing my job by myself." It was Adele.
"On my way," he promised. He nodded to Sam and left the barn.
***
Adele and Horatio spent most of the day interviewing boarders, hearing countless versions of the same story. They had not been near the barn that night, and of course no one else had the code, it was kept in some secure location like written down in the glove compartment of the car, or on the main message pad in the house, or fastened to the fridge with a magnet. The two officers took notes and thanked them for cooperating and mentally multiplied the number of people who could have had access by at least four.
The glaring exception to the routine was the housesitter staying at Val's owner's house. This was a thin, pale man in his early 30s. Far too pale, Horatio thought. He hadn't seen much sun lately. Of course, there could be more than one explanation for that, but he decided within thirty seconds of starting the interview to turn this rock over further and see what was underneath.
"I knew they had horses, of course," the man said to Adele. Horatio, prowling around the house, counted the pictures of horses. There were eight in the living room alone, some of the daughter with Valentine, some of her mother with a tall chestnut horse. "But I didn't know anything about a lock. I didn't even know where the barn was."
"How do you know the owner?" said Adele, forcing him to look at her. He kept glancing uneasily at Horatio. People who prowled systematically instead of nervously always bothered witnesses who were nervous themselves.
Horatio paused at the desk in the corner. A bill for board was on top of the stack, including the address of the barn in the letterhead. He dusted the desk for fingerprints and found nothing. Now that was suspicious. No one's housecleaning was that good.
"I'm a distant cousin." He started to say more and pulled himself up on the edge of it.
One of the pictures on the desk had a brass plate in the wood of the frame, identifying Valentine and his young owner. Horatio remembered the brass nameplates on the door of each stall, the smaller ones on each halter. No prints here either.
Adele continued the questioning as Horatio ambled nonchalantly into the kitchen, knowing he was driving this witness nuts. No lock code on the fridge here, but there was a message pad attached to a magnet. He picked it up, then dropped it into an envelope and pocketed it. Adele frowned at him over the witness's head through the doorway, and he grinned at her. He was fairly sure the owner, wherever she was, wouldn't mind helping this investigation. He would just get permission after the fact.
He walked back into the living room, coming up behind the witness. "We'll need the address where the owner of this house is staying. We will have to talk with her, of course."
"No problem." That, at least, didn't seem to bother him. Adele wrote the number down.
"Thank you for your cooperation," she said. "We might have more questions for you in the future." Count on it, she thought. As the door closed behind them and she turned away with Horatio, she added, "That one's involved somehow."
Horatio nodded. "All we have to do is prove it. No prints at all on the desk."
"None?"
"None. There is a bill there with the address of the barn, and a picture with the name of the horse. Lots of pictures with the kid. Anyone would know he was gentle."
"What about the note pad that you took illegally?"
"No code, but I'll have Speed reconstruct the last few pages. And I didn't take it illegally, Adele. I fully intend to get the owner's permission."
"You sure push the limits sometimes, H."
"I have to. So do the criminals." He stopped at the Hummer. "I'm heading back to CSI. This was the last interview, right?"
"Right. I'll run a background check on our friend here."
"One more thing. Find out who lives in that house across the street."
She had started for her own car, but she turned and took a step back toward him. "What on earth does that have to do with it?"
"Someone's watching us right now, behind the curtain. Someone watched us arrive, too."
"You think the neighbors are involved?"
"Not directly. I think we have an unofficial security system here. Personal monitor of the neighborhood, on duty 24/7. It could easily explain why the criminals didn't meet at this empty house instead of the barn."
She jotted a note to herself. "Will do. Let me know what the team has so far."
"I'll call you." He got in the Hummer and headed back for CSI, watching the curtain in the window twitch as he drove away.
***
The team assembled in the layout room, Horatio at the head of the table. "Okay, Speed, what have we got so far?"
"The hair in the blood on the horse is human, but it's nobody's DNA on file. Gives us a sample to compare to, though. The fibers are plain cotton, the kind that come from gloves. No prints anywhere on the stall door except those of the two partners. The blood on the horse and in the stall did come from the victim."
"Eric."
"There were several fibers from the stall, more from gloves and one that I'm still tracking. It's some kind of suit material. Top end. The wood fiber Alexx found in the wound is from a pool cue. They're a lot stronger than they look. Multilayer laminated for strength."
"A pool cue," Horatio said thoughtfully. "Definitely not normally found around a barn. Not terribly heavy, though. Alexx, how much strength would it take to kill someone with a pool cue?"
"Quite a bit. Definitely a man, probably a large one. It can be done - we've seen it done - but it's not easy."
"What about ID?"
"Got a hit on that from AFIS," said Speed. "Carl Gonzalez. He'd done some time for assault with a deadly weapon. Doesn't have the brains to put anything together, but he's available to the highest bidder."
"When did he last get out?"
"Six months ago. We're already working on all known associates, cross- referencing dates in and out of the system."
"Keep at it. Calleigh." He had deliberately saved the best for last.
"The tire tracks came from a tire used by Ford on their SUVs. Probably an Explorer, judging from the wheelbase. Fairly new tires. No prints on the lock keypad except the partners'."
"Speed, when you get your list of associates, let's cross-reference for Explorers. Also, two more things." He opened his field kit and removed the halter and notepad. "Eric, process this halter for prints, especially that brass nameplate. It would hold them nicely. Speed, I want the previous pages of this notepad, as far back as you can reconstruct them."
"What about you, H?" asked Eric.
"I'm going to get permission to take that notepad back to the lab and check it out."
Speed froze halfway to touching it, already hearing the defense attorney objecting in his mind. "You don't have permission yet? Or a warrant either?"
Horatio's eyes met his steadily. "I will have by the time you finish with it."
"Okay," said Speed dubiously. Calleigh hung behind as the rest of the team filed out of the room.
"What if you don't get permission?"
His blue eyes dazzled hers. "Why shouldn't they give me permission?"
Right then, she couldn't think of a single reason to deny him permission for anything. She looked down, breaking eye contact so that she could think, and he chuckled softly. Then, with a light touch on her arm, he left the layout room for his office.
***
Calleigh woke up from another dream of Christmas and reached instantly for Horatio. Her heart slowed as her hands found him. He was sound asleep. She relaxed back against the pillows, breathing deeply, keeping one hand lightly on him to reassure herself of his presence.
This time, it had been the Christmas when she was 11, when her father had gotten drunk and spent Christmas afternoon trying to shoot out the lights on the Christmas tree with a 22. His aim had deteriorated along with the level in the bottle, and finally furious at his inability to shoot straight, he staggered out of the house to the car, heading off in search of an open store to replenish the whiskey. Calleigh had crept downstairs tentatively, trying to determine if the coast was clear, only to find her mother sobbing at the kitchen table, worried that her father would get into an accident with the car and get himself killed. Without thinking, Calleigh had blurted out, "I hope he does." It was the one time her mother had ever slapped her, and the ringing blow startled both of them. They stared at each other in silence for a few seconds, and then Calleigh wheeled around and bolted out the back door, grabbing her own 22 on the way. She spent the rest of the afternoon in the woods, picking off pine cones, setting up targets and knocking them down, trying to calm herself by something she had control over. Trying and failing. The whole time, part of her was preparing the apology that would have to come to her mother later, saying that she had just been upset, that she hadn't meant it, and her mother would apologize for hitting her and would seize her captive in a massive, floppy hug and cry over her instead of her father. It was the other part of Calleigh's mind that chilled her more than the weather. That was the part that knew that she had meant it.
Calleigh snuggled down against Horatio, and he shifted without waking up, putting an arm around her. For a while, she considered waking him up, so that he could tell her that he was real, that it was the other that had been a dream, and that she wouldn't wake up from this life and be back there again. That's crazy, she told herself. What is wrong with you, Cal? Remember last night. Remember the other day. You're awake now, and we're together, and it's going to be different this year.
Still, it took her a long time to get back to sleep.
***
Sam came down the barn aisle carrying a saddle, stopping at the crossties where Lisa was grooming Chrissy. Lisa looked up. "Going to watch this morning?"
"Absolutely. I haven't had a chance to all week, with everything that's been going on. And we haven't got any lessons today until afternoon."
"The people are coming to install the video monitors this afternoon," Lisa reminded her. "I'm about ready to consider guard dogs, too." She shivered, suddenly feeling unsafe in the world again. Sam bumped her lightly on the shoulder as she stepped past her and started to saddle the horse.
Lisa gave Chrissy a final swipe down her velvet nose and dropped the brush into the grooming caddy, reaching for the bridle which hung ready on a hook. The cat paraded up and deposited a shiny item proudly, like a bird dog presenting its prey to the master. "What is it now, Ruth?" Lisa picked up the gold ring and studied it. "Sam, have you ever seen this?"
Sam finished tightening the girth and stepped to her side. "Never. That's an odd-looking thing." It was thick gold with a design of snakes twisted around it. Inscribed inside the band was A.B.E. "Who is A.B.E.?"
Lisa shrugged. "No idea. Of course, the boarders bring friends in to see the horses. We ought to ask around. Goodness knows how long Ruth has had it."
"Right, I'll ask everyone when I see them." Sam took the ring from Lisa and pocketed it. The cat, tired of waiting for approval, extended one claw and pronged her in the leg. "Sorry, Ruth. Thank you. It's just what I've always wanted." Unsatisfied, the cat turned and stalked off, tail waving disapprovingly. Lisa snickered.
"I don't think she thought you meant it." She remembered what she was doing and slipped the reins over the horse's head, then took off the halter and replaced it with the bridle. Chrissy started champing the bit in anticipation as soon as she felt it in her mouth. Her ears flickered alertly from Lisa toward the ring and back again.
"Will you do Beethoven for me this morning?" asked Sam. The longest and hardest of the three freestyles Lisa was working on was set to the final movement of Beethoven's Third Symphony.
"If we're up to it. I'll see how she's feeling. We need to watch the time, too. That security company will be here at noon sharp, and if you want to ride, it will have to come before then." She looked at her watch, then shook it sharply. "My watch has stopped." She was a chronic clock watcher who couldn't stand to be in a room without one.
"Here." Sam removed her own Rolex. "You can wear mine at the moment. Yours probably just needs a battery." She knew that Lisa would go crazy without a working watch.
"Thanks." Lisa dropped her own watch into the grooming caddy, then immediately pulled it back out. "No, Ruth would get it, and we wouldn't see it for two weeks."
"I'll put it in the car," said Sam. "See you in the ring." She took the watch as Lisa and Chrissy started up the aisle.
Up at the ring, Lisa mounted Chrissy and started off at a walk with loose reins, stretching the old horse out, feeling for any kinked muscles and stiff spots, working each one loose with gentle calisthenics. As always, a surge of pure elation swept through Lisa as she started to ride. Four strong legs, even strides, without that slight hesitation. On horseback, she did not limp. Chrissy snorted a warning, and Lisa immediately focused on the task at hand, working gently through the warm up exercises. After 10 minutes, she brought the horse together into balance, collecting her, compressing her body like a spring, and Chrissy surged up like she had become lighter and began to dance. Back and forth across the ring they went, working each gait, lengthening and shortening the strides. Sam watched quietly at the sidelines, spellbound, living it vicariously. After 25 minutes, Lisa brought Chrissy back to a walk and let her stretch out again. "I think we're up for Beethoven," she called. "She feels pretty good today." She unfastened the remote control from her belt and aimed it at the stereo inset in the wall, calling up the right CD on the CD changer, then hitting the track. She pushed play and collected the horse again in the few seconds of silence on the beginning of the freestyle. Sam sat forward on the edge of her chair with anticipation.
Chrissy picked up an extended canter and blasted up the center line with the opening symphonic run, then dropped immediately into a light-footed march to match the music. This was the hardest of their freestyles, and Lisa was utterly focused, feeling each muscle, each nerve ending in both her body and the horse's, keeping with the music while holding the technique, too. It always reminded her of sculpture, only working with a living, breathing element, not cold marble, trying to achieve the perfect balance and partnership, then doing it again in the next stride, and the next. Kinetic, ever changing sculpture. At the end of the movement, the same musical surge that opened it came again, and Chrissy charged down the center line once more, then started changing canter leads every stride, skipping joyfully along with the music, around the arena again, skipping up the center line, then dropping instantly to a halt, bowing her head to the unseen audience as the music died. Lisa let out a deep breath. There is nothing like this, she thought for the hundredth time. There are things that are better, but there is nothing remotely like this. She smiled at Sam, sharing the moment, then, characteristically, started grading herself as she let Chrissy walk on.
"I messed up the cue sequence on the lead changes at the end. That's why she missed that one. And there's something wrong with the left pirouettes. They don't quite match the right ones."
"You couldn't even do pirouettes a year ago," Sam reminded her.
"Don't try to give me delusions of adequacy." They grinned at each other. The phrase was one of Lisa's trainer's favorites. "I don't think I have the left hind leg engaged enough there. I'm going to work those a little more."
"What time is it?" Lisa looked at Sam's watch and told her. "I'd love to watch you some more, but we do have other things to do today. I'd better get on with it." She stood up reluctantly and stepped across the low rail into the ring, approaching Chrissy. "You're incredible, princess," she said, giving the horse a pat on the neck.
"She knows it," said Lisa. "Go ahead and saddle a horse. I won't work her much longer."
"Right." Sam exited the ring, closing the heavy door behind her, and Lisa walked Chrissy a few more laps until the mare was breathing normally again. She then picked up a canter, extending and collecting it a few times, then went into a right pirouette, twirling around on the spot, the right hind leg as their anchor. She memorized the feeling, then cantered up the ring and went into a left one, ready to compare.
Chrissy suddenly threw her head up and snorted, leaping sideways. Lisa shifted for a second in the saddle, then caught her balance and held. The mare came to a halt, her neck arched high, her ears swiveled forward so that they almost touched at the tips, trying to capture whatever she had heard and identify it.
Lisa touched her lightly on the neck. "What is it, girl?" It was so odd for the mare to spook. Chrissy would bluff at times, but for her to honestly jump at something when she was focused in the middle of work was almost unheard of. Her ears still quivered, trying to catch the sound again. "I didn't hear anything," said Lisa. "Just your imagination. You're creating horse-eating monsters." She strained her own ears. Nothing.
Chrissy abruptly realized that Lisa wasn't focused on the work anymore. With a snort, she dropped her head and bucked. Lisa rocked but held her seat, pulling the horse's head back up, driving her forward. "You little devil! You're the one who distracted me, you know." She drove the horse into balance again, giving her a light touch with the whip, and Chrissy, knowing she had earned it, did not protest. Their attention refocused, they worked on pirouettes for a few more minutes. Finally, Lisa walked the mare several laps, cooling her out. By the time she dismounted, she had almost forgotten about the incident.
Until she opened the door to the indoor and started down the side passage toward the main aisle. A wave of restlessness came toward her from every horse in the stalls, and Chrissy felt it too and pranced, her ears flickering uneasily. They turned into the main aisle, and Lisa stumbled to a stunned halt. Sam lay crumpled at the far end of the aisle. "Sam!" she shrieked, starting forward, and Chrissy, already uneasy, was hit by her wave of panic and reared, pulling back against the reins, threatening to become a 1300-pound loose cannon. Lisa frantically looked from her motionless friend back to her horse. Years of training overruled her feelings momentarily. If Chrissy broke away, they could all be hurt. Lisa schooled her voice to an easy croon, forcing herself to be calm. "Easy, girl. It's all right." Chrissy dropped her front legs to the ground, her ears snapping forward, then back. Her own uneasiness and the smell of blood warred with the voice. "Easy, girl." The voice won. Chrissy stepped forward into Lisa's hands. Lisa walked to the nearest set of crossties as quickly as she could do it calmly, grabbing a halter at random from the front of a stall on her way. She led Chrissy into the crossties, slipped the halter on quickly over her bridle, and secured her.
For the first five strides after leaving the horse, Lisa walked quietly, then broke into a stumbling run, cursing the fact that she couldn't get there faster. She dropped to her knees beside her best friend, feeling for a pulse. Sam's eyes were closed. She almost might have been asleep, except for the small hole high on the side of her forehead. She had been shot.
***
Then in despair I bowed my head. "There is no peace on earth," I said. "For hate is strong and mocks the song Of peace on earth, good will to men."
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, "I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day" (This was written at the height of the U.S. Civil War, in case you wonder what was eating him. Not a dark poem when you read all stanzas, though.)
***
Horatio pulled up to the barn about 9:00 the next morning to find an anthill swarming with activity. Several cars were in the parking area, and two horses were being ridden in the outdoor arena. He entered and ran into Sam almost instantly, heading down the aisle with a caddy of grooming tools in her hand. "Looking for me?"
"Yes, I was." He glanced around. The main aisle seemed fairly quiet compared to the cars outside. Sam followed his thought.
"Lisa's teaching a lesson in the indoor, so several people are there. And two of the boarders are riding outside. We've probably got 20 minutes, if it's private. As long as you don't mind if I groom while I talk. Yesterday's lessons were all doubled onto today, so it's a little hectic."
"No problem." He followed her down to where a horse was crosstied in one of the open stalls. "I wanted to take another look around this barn. I just have a feeling that we still don't have all the pieces here. First, though, I'd like to ask you a question. Nothing to do with the investigation. None of my business, in fact. Just curiosity."
Sam picked up the currycomb and started working on the horse with businesslike strokes. "You did a background check on us," she said without looking at him. "And you want to know why."
"Exactly." Horatio could never stand having a piece of a puzzle missing, directly tied to an investigation or not.
"Have you ever just thought someone deserved a break in life, Mr. Caine?" Her eyes were glued to the horse.
"Lots of times."
"Lisa was orphaned when she was nine when her parents were killed in a car accident. That's when she hurt her leg, too. Raised in a string of foster homes. I first met her when she was 15, when we took lessons at the same stable. She would clean stalls all week in exchange for one hour riding. So I decided to give her a break."
Horatio took a step toward her (on the side of the horse, not the front), focusing his intensity to make her look up. "Not good enough. No one builds a complex like this and sets up a business just to give someone a break. At least, you wouldn't. Why are you doing this for her?"
Sam met his eyes over the horse's neck. Again, he felt the strength of her personality, but there was a hint of wistfulness in her now, too. "Did you see Lisa riding yesterday?" He nodded. "What did you think of it?"
"Beautiful precision," he said instantly.
"Exactly. Beautiful precision." She went back to brushing the horse. "Dressage is an odd sport. It doesn't appeal to many people. If you want the adrenaline thrill, it's not there. But if you want beautiful precision, there's nothing else like it. Working with a living animal to get a partnership like that. It's an art form. It's been my dream all my life, to get to the highest level." She stopped brushing, again meeting his eyes. "And I'm never going to get there."
He understood instantly. "It's a gift."
"Right. All the lessons, all the money, all the physical ability in the world isn't enough. I'm a better athlete than Lisa. As far as I went, I learned it faster. She's had to fight for every inch. But if I took lessons from the world champion every day, I'd never improve past where I am now. And there was Lisa, in the same stable, working so hard for it. She has the God-given gift for this, and I don't. But I do have money, and that can sure make the road easier. So six years ago, we went into business so I could help her." She stepped to the other side of the horse and continued brushing. "It takes years, but she'll go all the way. You saw Chrissy?"
"Yes. I've never seen anything like that."
"She's 24 years old. When a horse gets past its prime competitively but is trained all the way to the top, the rider will sell to a rider who's still learning but is advanced enough to deal with the challenge. Chrissy's job right now is to give Lisa an education. We've had her a year, and the difference is amazing. But I can't ride her, myself. She's too trained to be easy to ride." She saw his slightly puzzled look. "You're confusing training with gentleness. Val is gentle. Chrissy is trained. It's like a fighter jet; it performs to a higher level, but it's much harder to fly. It demands more from the pilot. The more trained a horse gets, the harder they are to ride. If someone just casually grabbed Chrissy and jumped on, she'd out-buck a rodeo horse. She'd be offended at the poor rider's ignorance. It pushes Lisa to ride her. Over a year ago, she couldn't have. You should see our trainer ride her when she comes to give Lisa lessons. Now that's ballet."
"So you're fulfilling her dream." The puzzle pieces fit now.
"It's my dream, too. I just had to modify it a bit. As much as I can, I get to participate in this, and that's something I could never buy. She gives me more than I've ever given her."
She reminded him of his mother. Not at all physically, but the directness, the strength were the same. "You're a remarkable person," said Horatio sincerely.
She paused in her task again. Level gray eyes met his, facing facts squarely. "So is she. The world is full of remarkable people. You just have to open your eyes and look for them."
"Thank you for the explanation," said Horatio. He glanced at his watch. "I'd better get to work. I've got interviews today, and I want to look around this barn thoroughly again. You did change the lock code, right?"
"Did it yesterday. What do you have, Ruth?" This question was addressed to a black and white barn cat who was coming toward them, something shiny in her mouth, tail waving in a sinuous question mark. She padded up to Horatio and dropped her treasure at his feet, and he picked it up. It was a pen. He passed it to Sam.
"So that's where it went. My good pen vanished from the office last week." She stroked the cat with affectionate exasperation. "Ruth is a great hunter, but she's a thief. She steals things and hides them, then brings them back a few days later like she's doing us a favor. How's the investigation going?"
Horatio gave her credit for waiting so far into their conversation to ask him that question. It set her above most of the public. "It takes time. We've got several leads, though. The evidence will tell us what happened." Hooves clattered up the aisle as one of the boarders came in from outside. She fell into horsey conversation with Sam, and Horatio slipped away.
He couldn't shake the feeling that this barn was important, that it had meant something to the killers even aside from the murder. He combed through the entire place again, trying to see it not as a murder scene but as . . . something else. Hiding place? Not likely. The place was surprisingly clean for a barn and extremely organized. Ruth might hide things here, but people wouldn't have many options. Also, if today was any indication, there was too much traffic to make it safe. Rendezvous point, then? He stopped in one of the side passages, thinking. The barn was isolated but fairly close to the city. At night, no one would be likely to be disturbed. But what did it have that a remote patch of woods didn't? A mental puzzle piece clicked into place. Lights. The barn was well lit, but the lights wouldn't show to the outside world at night. If you wanted to have a meeting, an undisturbed meeting, with people you didn't trust enough to meet in shadows, this wasn't a bad option. Provided you had the entry code. He whipped out his cell phone.
"Calleigh Caine." His name attached to hers brought a smile to his face.
"Hello there, Beautiful."
"Hello yourself." He could hear her matching smile through her voice.
"I need you to check on something for me. Call the security company back and ask them if the barn was entered during the night for any night in the week preceding the murder."
"You think they were using it regularly?"
"I think they were using it for some purpose besides framing horses for murder. They already knew about this place, before the body."
"Will do, Handsome. Are you still out at the barn? I thought you were meeting Adele for interviews."
"I am. I'm leaving now."
"Cutting it fine, aren't you?"
"I talked to Sam first, before I started to search again."
She laughed. "You're incorrigible. Can't stand to not understand people, can you?"
"Guilty as charged. What's my sentence?"
"I'll think something up." She dropped back into professionalism. "I'll get to work on the lock."
"Thank you, Cal. See you later."
"Bye, Horatio." He loved how she could make his name sound. How on earth had he lived so many years without her?
Snapping back to himself and snapping the phone shut, he went back into the main aisle, then hesitated, one final thought demanding his attention. He walked down to Val's stall and eyed the leather halter with brass nameplate hanging on a hook in front of it. The stall had been thoroughly processed yesterday, but the halter had been on the horse. The killers would have had to put it on the horse, too. He studied it without touching it, then stepped across the aisle and picked up Chrissy's identical halter, noting in passing that her official name was Kristian Joy. He buckled it, then unbuckled it, noting the thick leather. Not at all easy to buckle, especially wearing gloves, especially for someone unused to handling one. The killers had worn gloves entering the lock code, but trying to buckle that halter onto a spooked horse would have required more dexterity. He replaced Chrissy's halter, pulled on latex gloves himself, and took Val's halter off its hook. He walked up the aisle to where Sam was grooming another horse. "I'd like to take Val's halter with me," he said. "You'll get it back eventually."
"Fine," she said. "We've got extras. You think it might have fingerprints?"
"Very likely. I think it would be hard to put one on a spooked horse wearing gloves." She considered this and nodded, and his cell phone rang.
"H, where are you? I'm about ready to start doing my job by myself." It was Adele.
"On my way," he promised. He nodded to Sam and left the barn.
***
Adele and Horatio spent most of the day interviewing boarders, hearing countless versions of the same story. They had not been near the barn that night, and of course no one else had the code, it was kept in some secure location like written down in the glove compartment of the car, or on the main message pad in the house, or fastened to the fridge with a magnet. The two officers took notes and thanked them for cooperating and mentally multiplied the number of people who could have had access by at least four.
The glaring exception to the routine was the housesitter staying at Val's owner's house. This was a thin, pale man in his early 30s. Far too pale, Horatio thought. He hadn't seen much sun lately. Of course, there could be more than one explanation for that, but he decided within thirty seconds of starting the interview to turn this rock over further and see what was underneath.
"I knew they had horses, of course," the man said to Adele. Horatio, prowling around the house, counted the pictures of horses. There were eight in the living room alone, some of the daughter with Valentine, some of her mother with a tall chestnut horse. "But I didn't know anything about a lock. I didn't even know where the barn was."
"How do you know the owner?" said Adele, forcing him to look at her. He kept glancing uneasily at Horatio. People who prowled systematically instead of nervously always bothered witnesses who were nervous themselves.
Horatio paused at the desk in the corner. A bill for board was on top of the stack, including the address of the barn in the letterhead. He dusted the desk for fingerprints and found nothing. Now that was suspicious. No one's housecleaning was that good.
"I'm a distant cousin." He started to say more and pulled himself up on the edge of it.
One of the pictures on the desk had a brass plate in the wood of the frame, identifying Valentine and his young owner. Horatio remembered the brass nameplates on the door of each stall, the smaller ones on each halter. No prints here either.
Adele continued the questioning as Horatio ambled nonchalantly into the kitchen, knowing he was driving this witness nuts. No lock code on the fridge here, but there was a message pad attached to a magnet. He picked it up, then dropped it into an envelope and pocketed it. Adele frowned at him over the witness's head through the doorway, and he grinned at her. He was fairly sure the owner, wherever she was, wouldn't mind helping this investigation. He would just get permission after the fact.
He walked back into the living room, coming up behind the witness. "We'll need the address where the owner of this house is staying. We will have to talk with her, of course."
"No problem." That, at least, didn't seem to bother him. Adele wrote the number down.
"Thank you for your cooperation," she said. "We might have more questions for you in the future." Count on it, she thought. As the door closed behind them and she turned away with Horatio, she added, "That one's involved somehow."
Horatio nodded. "All we have to do is prove it. No prints at all on the desk."
"None?"
"None. There is a bill there with the address of the barn, and a picture with the name of the horse. Lots of pictures with the kid. Anyone would know he was gentle."
"What about the note pad that you took illegally?"
"No code, but I'll have Speed reconstruct the last few pages. And I didn't take it illegally, Adele. I fully intend to get the owner's permission."
"You sure push the limits sometimes, H."
"I have to. So do the criminals." He stopped at the Hummer. "I'm heading back to CSI. This was the last interview, right?"
"Right. I'll run a background check on our friend here."
"One more thing. Find out who lives in that house across the street."
She had started for her own car, but she turned and took a step back toward him. "What on earth does that have to do with it?"
"Someone's watching us right now, behind the curtain. Someone watched us arrive, too."
"You think the neighbors are involved?"
"Not directly. I think we have an unofficial security system here. Personal monitor of the neighborhood, on duty 24/7. It could easily explain why the criminals didn't meet at this empty house instead of the barn."
She jotted a note to herself. "Will do. Let me know what the team has so far."
"I'll call you." He got in the Hummer and headed back for CSI, watching the curtain in the window twitch as he drove away.
***
The team assembled in the layout room, Horatio at the head of the table. "Okay, Speed, what have we got so far?"
"The hair in the blood on the horse is human, but it's nobody's DNA on file. Gives us a sample to compare to, though. The fibers are plain cotton, the kind that come from gloves. No prints anywhere on the stall door except those of the two partners. The blood on the horse and in the stall did come from the victim."
"Eric."
"There were several fibers from the stall, more from gloves and one that I'm still tracking. It's some kind of suit material. Top end. The wood fiber Alexx found in the wound is from a pool cue. They're a lot stronger than they look. Multilayer laminated for strength."
"A pool cue," Horatio said thoughtfully. "Definitely not normally found around a barn. Not terribly heavy, though. Alexx, how much strength would it take to kill someone with a pool cue?"
"Quite a bit. Definitely a man, probably a large one. It can be done - we've seen it done - but it's not easy."
"What about ID?"
"Got a hit on that from AFIS," said Speed. "Carl Gonzalez. He'd done some time for assault with a deadly weapon. Doesn't have the brains to put anything together, but he's available to the highest bidder."
"When did he last get out?"
"Six months ago. We're already working on all known associates, cross- referencing dates in and out of the system."
"Keep at it. Calleigh." He had deliberately saved the best for last.
"The tire tracks came from a tire used by Ford on their SUVs. Probably an Explorer, judging from the wheelbase. Fairly new tires. No prints on the lock keypad except the partners'."
"Speed, when you get your list of associates, let's cross-reference for Explorers. Also, two more things." He opened his field kit and removed the halter and notepad. "Eric, process this halter for prints, especially that brass nameplate. It would hold them nicely. Speed, I want the previous pages of this notepad, as far back as you can reconstruct them."
"What about you, H?" asked Eric.
"I'm going to get permission to take that notepad back to the lab and check it out."
Speed froze halfway to touching it, already hearing the defense attorney objecting in his mind. "You don't have permission yet? Or a warrant either?"
Horatio's eyes met his steadily. "I will have by the time you finish with it."
"Okay," said Speed dubiously. Calleigh hung behind as the rest of the team filed out of the room.
"What if you don't get permission?"
His blue eyes dazzled hers. "Why shouldn't they give me permission?"
Right then, she couldn't think of a single reason to deny him permission for anything. She looked down, breaking eye contact so that she could think, and he chuckled softly. Then, with a light touch on her arm, he left the layout room for his office.
***
Calleigh woke up from another dream of Christmas and reached instantly for Horatio. Her heart slowed as her hands found him. He was sound asleep. She relaxed back against the pillows, breathing deeply, keeping one hand lightly on him to reassure herself of his presence.
This time, it had been the Christmas when she was 11, when her father had gotten drunk and spent Christmas afternoon trying to shoot out the lights on the Christmas tree with a 22. His aim had deteriorated along with the level in the bottle, and finally furious at his inability to shoot straight, he staggered out of the house to the car, heading off in search of an open store to replenish the whiskey. Calleigh had crept downstairs tentatively, trying to determine if the coast was clear, only to find her mother sobbing at the kitchen table, worried that her father would get into an accident with the car and get himself killed. Without thinking, Calleigh had blurted out, "I hope he does." It was the one time her mother had ever slapped her, and the ringing blow startled both of them. They stared at each other in silence for a few seconds, and then Calleigh wheeled around and bolted out the back door, grabbing her own 22 on the way. She spent the rest of the afternoon in the woods, picking off pine cones, setting up targets and knocking them down, trying to calm herself by something she had control over. Trying and failing. The whole time, part of her was preparing the apology that would have to come to her mother later, saying that she had just been upset, that she hadn't meant it, and her mother would apologize for hitting her and would seize her captive in a massive, floppy hug and cry over her instead of her father. It was the other part of Calleigh's mind that chilled her more than the weather. That was the part that knew that she had meant it.
Calleigh snuggled down against Horatio, and he shifted without waking up, putting an arm around her. For a while, she considered waking him up, so that he could tell her that he was real, that it was the other that had been a dream, and that she wouldn't wake up from this life and be back there again. That's crazy, she told herself. What is wrong with you, Cal? Remember last night. Remember the other day. You're awake now, and we're together, and it's going to be different this year.
Still, it took her a long time to get back to sleep.
***
Sam came down the barn aisle carrying a saddle, stopping at the crossties where Lisa was grooming Chrissy. Lisa looked up. "Going to watch this morning?"
"Absolutely. I haven't had a chance to all week, with everything that's been going on. And we haven't got any lessons today until afternoon."
"The people are coming to install the video monitors this afternoon," Lisa reminded her. "I'm about ready to consider guard dogs, too." She shivered, suddenly feeling unsafe in the world again. Sam bumped her lightly on the shoulder as she stepped past her and started to saddle the horse.
Lisa gave Chrissy a final swipe down her velvet nose and dropped the brush into the grooming caddy, reaching for the bridle which hung ready on a hook. The cat paraded up and deposited a shiny item proudly, like a bird dog presenting its prey to the master. "What is it now, Ruth?" Lisa picked up the gold ring and studied it. "Sam, have you ever seen this?"
Sam finished tightening the girth and stepped to her side. "Never. That's an odd-looking thing." It was thick gold with a design of snakes twisted around it. Inscribed inside the band was A.B.E. "Who is A.B.E.?"
Lisa shrugged. "No idea. Of course, the boarders bring friends in to see the horses. We ought to ask around. Goodness knows how long Ruth has had it."
"Right, I'll ask everyone when I see them." Sam took the ring from Lisa and pocketed it. The cat, tired of waiting for approval, extended one claw and pronged her in the leg. "Sorry, Ruth. Thank you. It's just what I've always wanted." Unsatisfied, the cat turned and stalked off, tail waving disapprovingly. Lisa snickered.
"I don't think she thought you meant it." She remembered what she was doing and slipped the reins over the horse's head, then took off the halter and replaced it with the bridle. Chrissy started champing the bit in anticipation as soon as she felt it in her mouth. Her ears flickered alertly from Lisa toward the ring and back again.
"Will you do Beethoven for me this morning?" asked Sam. The longest and hardest of the three freestyles Lisa was working on was set to the final movement of Beethoven's Third Symphony.
"If we're up to it. I'll see how she's feeling. We need to watch the time, too. That security company will be here at noon sharp, and if you want to ride, it will have to come before then." She looked at her watch, then shook it sharply. "My watch has stopped." She was a chronic clock watcher who couldn't stand to be in a room without one.
"Here." Sam removed her own Rolex. "You can wear mine at the moment. Yours probably just needs a battery." She knew that Lisa would go crazy without a working watch.
"Thanks." Lisa dropped her own watch into the grooming caddy, then immediately pulled it back out. "No, Ruth would get it, and we wouldn't see it for two weeks."
"I'll put it in the car," said Sam. "See you in the ring." She took the watch as Lisa and Chrissy started up the aisle.
Up at the ring, Lisa mounted Chrissy and started off at a walk with loose reins, stretching the old horse out, feeling for any kinked muscles and stiff spots, working each one loose with gentle calisthenics. As always, a surge of pure elation swept through Lisa as she started to ride. Four strong legs, even strides, without that slight hesitation. On horseback, she did not limp. Chrissy snorted a warning, and Lisa immediately focused on the task at hand, working gently through the warm up exercises. After 10 minutes, she brought the horse together into balance, collecting her, compressing her body like a spring, and Chrissy surged up like she had become lighter and began to dance. Back and forth across the ring they went, working each gait, lengthening and shortening the strides. Sam watched quietly at the sidelines, spellbound, living it vicariously. After 25 minutes, Lisa brought Chrissy back to a walk and let her stretch out again. "I think we're up for Beethoven," she called. "She feels pretty good today." She unfastened the remote control from her belt and aimed it at the stereo inset in the wall, calling up the right CD on the CD changer, then hitting the track. She pushed play and collected the horse again in the few seconds of silence on the beginning of the freestyle. Sam sat forward on the edge of her chair with anticipation.
Chrissy picked up an extended canter and blasted up the center line with the opening symphonic run, then dropped immediately into a light-footed march to match the music. This was the hardest of their freestyles, and Lisa was utterly focused, feeling each muscle, each nerve ending in both her body and the horse's, keeping with the music while holding the technique, too. It always reminded her of sculpture, only working with a living, breathing element, not cold marble, trying to achieve the perfect balance and partnership, then doing it again in the next stride, and the next. Kinetic, ever changing sculpture. At the end of the movement, the same musical surge that opened it came again, and Chrissy charged down the center line once more, then started changing canter leads every stride, skipping joyfully along with the music, around the arena again, skipping up the center line, then dropping instantly to a halt, bowing her head to the unseen audience as the music died. Lisa let out a deep breath. There is nothing like this, she thought for the hundredth time. There are things that are better, but there is nothing remotely like this. She smiled at Sam, sharing the moment, then, characteristically, started grading herself as she let Chrissy walk on.
"I messed up the cue sequence on the lead changes at the end. That's why she missed that one. And there's something wrong with the left pirouettes. They don't quite match the right ones."
"You couldn't even do pirouettes a year ago," Sam reminded her.
"Don't try to give me delusions of adequacy." They grinned at each other. The phrase was one of Lisa's trainer's favorites. "I don't think I have the left hind leg engaged enough there. I'm going to work those a little more."
"What time is it?" Lisa looked at Sam's watch and told her. "I'd love to watch you some more, but we do have other things to do today. I'd better get on with it." She stood up reluctantly and stepped across the low rail into the ring, approaching Chrissy. "You're incredible, princess," she said, giving the horse a pat on the neck.
"She knows it," said Lisa. "Go ahead and saddle a horse. I won't work her much longer."
"Right." Sam exited the ring, closing the heavy door behind her, and Lisa walked Chrissy a few more laps until the mare was breathing normally again. She then picked up a canter, extending and collecting it a few times, then went into a right pirouette, twirling around on the spot, the right hind leg as their anchor. She memorized the feeling, then cantered up the ring and went into a left one, ready to compare.
Chrissy suddenly threw her head up and snorted, leaping sideways. Lisa shifted for a second in the saddle, then caught her balance and held. The mare came to a halt, her neck arched high, her ears swiveled forward so that they almost touched at the tips, trying to capture whatever she had heard and identify it.
Lisa touched her lightly on the neck. "What is it, girl?" It was so odd for the mare to spook. Chrissy would bluff at times, but for her to honestly jump at something when she was focused in the middle of work was almost unheard of. Her ears still quivered, trying to catch the sound again. "I didn't hear anything," said Lisa. "Just your imagination. You're creating horse-eating monsters." She strained her own ears. Nothing.
Chrissy abruptly realized that Lisa wasn't focused on the work anymore. With a snort, she dropped her head and bucked. Lisa rocked but held her seat, pulling the horse's head back up, driving her forward. "You little devil! You're the one who distracted me, you know." She drove the horse into balance again, giving her a light touch with the whip, and Chrissy, knowing she had earned it, did not protest. Their attention refocused, they worked on pirouettes for a few more minutes. Finally, Lisa walked the mare several laps, cooling her out. By the time she dismounted, she had almost forgotten about the incident.
Until she opened the door to the indoor and started down the side passage toward the main aisle. A wave of restlessness came toward her from every horse in the stalls, and Chrissy felt it too and pranced, her ears flickering uneasily. They turned into the main aisle, and Lisa stumbled to a stunned halt. Sam lay crumpled at the far end of the aisle. "Sam!" she shrieked, starting forward, and Chrissy, already uneasy, was hit by her wave of panic and reared, pulling back against the reins, threatening to become a 1300-pound loose cannon. Lisa frantically looked from her motionless friend back to her horse. Years of training overruled her feelings momentarily. If Chrissy broke away, they could all be hurt. Lisa schooled her voice to an easy croon, forcing herself to be calm. "Easy, girl. It's all right." Chrissy dropped her front legs to the ground, her ears snapping forward, then back. Her own uneasiness and the smell of blood warred with the voice. "Easy, girl." The voice won. Chrissy stepped forward into Lisa's hands. Lisa walked to the nearest set of crossties as quickly as she could do it calmly, grabbing a halter at random from the front of a stall on her way. She led Chrissy into the crossties, slipped the halter on quickly over her bridle, and secured her.
For the first five strides after leaving the horse, Lisa walked quietly, then broke into a stumbling run, cursing the fact that she couldn't get there faster. She dropped to her knees beside her best friend, feeling for a pulse. Sam's eyes were closed. She almost might have been asleep, except for the small hole high on the side of her forehead. She had been shot.