"Do you know what I know?"
Traditional carol, "Do You Hear What I Hear?"
***
The Hummer navigated the Miami traffic like a shark swimming in a school of smaller fish, the other cars giving way respectfully. Horatio reached the house of Valentine's owner and pulled to the curb behind Adele's car. She exited the house while he was still halfway up the sidewalk. "H, you okay?" She knew the question would annoy him, but she honestly wanted to know.
"Fine," he said shortly. "What's been happening?"
"Eric and Speed are processing the house. Nothing so far. I'm not getting anywhere with our house sitter. He hasn't seen anything, doesn't know anything, never saw Albert Edwards since getting out. Of course, he's lying, but he won't budge."
"You think it would make any difference to have two people questioning him?"
"Good cop, bad cop? No. I think he's more afraid of Edwards than he is of us."
Horatio considered. "Could be. He's not a big-time crook, from his record. Not in Edwards' league. This will be his first accessory to murder charge."
"If we can prove it." Adele was dedicated to her job, but she didn't let it eat under her skin the way he did. You did the best you could do, and that was the best you could do.
He glared at her. "We'll prove it. But probably you're right. If he's that scared, he won't turn state's evidence on them until we have a definite link to tie him in, one he can see." He turned back to look at the twitching curtain across the street. "Did you find out who lives there?"
"Gratia Cummings, 82-year-old widow."
"82-year-old widow," Horatio repeated thoughtfully. "That's perfect." He turned his back on the house sitter and headed across the street. Adele sighed and followed him. Technically, the detective should have the lead over the CSI, but it never worked that way with Horatio. His results spoke for themselves, though.
The widow had seen them coming, of course, but she had to put on an act, waiting for the doorbell, then approaching after several seconds, making it look like she had been busy. Her body was stooped, and she walked with a cane, but the beady eyes were as alert as a robin's. "Mrs. Cummings?" Horatio put on his best respectful, courtly demeanor.
"Yes."
"I'm Horatio Caine, and this is Detective Sevilla, Miami-Dade PD. Could we talk to you for a minute?"
"Oh my goodness, I've never talked to the police before. What is it about?"
"We're just looking for someone observant who might be able to help us." He accented observant and help ever so slightly, and the subliminal stroke to her pride was received.
"Well, anything I can do, of course. Come in, come in." If it was possible to bustle at a slow limp with a cane, she did, leading the way to the kitchen table. Horatio glanced back at the window facing the street. A comfortable chair was sideways next to it, along with a pair of binoculars on the small table nearby. This is perfect, he thought again. Albert Edwards had been wise to choose the barn for a criminal rendezvous over that house. Horatio would back Gratia Cummings against Edwards any day.
"Sit down, sit down," she fluttered. "Now, I'll just make us all some hot tea. Won't that be nice?"
Adele opened her mouth to refuse the offer, and Horatio cut her off. "That would be delightful." Mrs. Cummings smiled at him and turned to rummage in the cabinets. Adele looked at Horatio, then shook her head slightly, effectively surrendering any pretense of control over this interview.
Mrs. Cummings filled the kettle carefully and set it on the stove. Her hands were gnarled with arthritis, but Horatio didn't offer to do it for her. She would have been offended. Once it was heating, she dropped into the third chair at the table with a slight groan. "I declare, every winter, my arthritis gets worse. Wouldn't think it would bother me in Florida, but it does. You young people can't imagine what you'll have to put up with as you get old. Now, then, young man, what did you want my help with?"
Horatio, who couldn't remember the last time he had been called young man, smiled at her sweetly. "We're interested in a Ford Explorer that might have been at the house across the street recently." He would trust Calleigh's guess on the vehicle make.
"Let me think. They're away on vacation, you know. And that young man house sitting, I don't like his looks at all. Weak chin. My mother always told me, never trust a man with a weak chin."
"Excellent advice," said Horatio. She eyed him assessingly, but apparently his chin passed inspection.
"There was a night about a week ago, I think. It's hard to remember dates, of course." The tea kettle sang behind her, and she heaved herself back up with musical accompaniment to fix the tea in three china cups. She placed a cup ceremoniously in front of each of her guests, then painfully settled herself again. "I had a hip replacement a year ago, and I declare, it's worse now than it was before. Should have just left well enough alone, I guess. Now about the Explorer. It was last Thursday night, 9:05 PM. It came with one man driving."
"What did he look like?" asked Horatio.
"Dark hair with a beard. My mother always told me, never trust a man with a beard. They use them, you know, to hide weak chins." She eyed Horatio's features again, and Adele, across the table, suddenly progressed from impatience to enjoyment. This interview was worth seeing. She settled back and sipped her tea.
"Your mother was a very wise woman," said Horatio. "I'm sure she passed along her wisdom to her daughter, too." Mrs. Cummings tittered self- consciously, and Horatio reached across to Adele's file, removing the picture of Edwards. "Mrs. Cummings, was this the man?"
"Oh goodness gracious me, it is. I only saw him in the street light, but I'd swear on a stack of Bibles." She studied the prisoner information printed across the bottom. "I knew he wasn't a nice man. The minute I saw him, I said, if my mother were here, she'd have all sorts of things to say about this one. It wasn't just the beard. He looked all around, all ways up and down the street. Don't ever trust a man who looks all around like he's still afraid his mother's watching him."
Horatio kept both eyes glued to her face attentively and didn't even look at the tea he was sipping. "What did the man do, after he looked around furtively?"
"Furtively!" She cackled like a hen. "That's a good word. My mother would have liked that one. He went up to the door and rang the doorbell. Rang it three times. Then the house sitter opened the door. He didn't want to let him in, and the dark man pushed him back inside. Then he followed him in. They stayed in the house for 1 hour 23 minutes." She must have felt Adele's look, because she turned to her for the first time. "It's not that I was snooping, of course, but I needed to keep an eye on the time so I'd know when to take my next pill. For my arthritis, you know." She turned back to Horatio, and her tone sweetened again. "The man came out alone, and he stood by the Explorer and looked up and down the street - furtively." She eyed him for approval, and he nodded in a pleased way.
"You're very perceptive, Mrs. Cummings. Your mother taught you well." He's enjoying this, thought Adele. Horatio was, actually. He had never known his own grandparents, and this feisty 82-year-old appealed to him irresistibly. "Did the car come back any time in the next few days? No, did it come back at any point at all since then?" His expression changed slightly, for just a second, as he broadened the question.
"It drove by the next morning. It was 5:32 AM. I don't spend my time spying on the neighborhood, but I couldn't sleep because of my arthritis, so I was looking at my watch, so I'd know when to take my next pill. It just drove by real slow, and the same man was looking around furtively. I saw the beard in the street light. Don't ever trust a man with a beard, my mother said. It just went on by after a minute. I haven't seen it again to this day. No other Explorers, either. It's a residential neighborhood; you don't just drive through. Most of the traffic here belongs here."
"Could you describe the Explorer, Mrs. Cummings?"
"It was dark blue, solid all over. Looked fairly new. It was shining, in the street lights. But it did have a busted taillight on the left side."
He leaned forward a bit. "Do you remember the license plate?"
She was offended. "Mr. Caine, I am not a busybody! Why on earth would I sit here looking at people's license plates? Mind your own business, that's what my mother always taught me." She glared at him. He met her gaze evenly, refusing to be furtive or weak-chinned, and she smiled at him again after a minute. "It started with S, though. I happened to notice that. Just by chance, you know."
"Of course." Horatio finished his tea and stood up. "Mrs. Cummings, you are a remarkably observant citizen and a very coherent witness. I congratulate you on your perception and your sense of duty." She extended her hand to him, and he bowed over it like she was royalty. Adele preceded him down the hall to the door. Once outside by the cars, she nearly fell over laughing.
"Adele," said Horatio. She looked back at him, and he jerked his head slightly toward the house they had left and the twitching curtain. "Smile. You're on Candid Camera."
***
After checking in with Speed and Delko - nothing so far but slow going - and a brief and totally unproductive second conversation with the house sitter, who was indeed terrified, Horatio and Adele drove back in their separate vehicles to CSI. They were deep in conversation as they exited the elevator, and they nearly ran over Calleigh. "Sorry, Cal," said Horatio. "Any luck on your end?"
"Bits and pieces, but I can't make anything out of them. I was about to go looking for you, actually. I've gone over those measurements from the crime scene twenty different ways, and it still comes out the same. The shooter was about 10 feet from Sam when he took the shot."
Horatio frowned thoughtfully. "That's odd."
"I thought so too. That ought to tell me something, but I don't know what."
"Argument shootings or force shootings, like they were snatching the ring, would be a lot closer range. And she wasn't running. Alexx said she was looking at them. It's almost like the scenario changed. A casual conversation that suddenly became menacing." He mulled that one over for a minute, Calleigh and Adele waiting in respectful silence. Finally, he shook his head. "We haven't got all the pieces yet. That means something, though. They weren't just grabbing the ring. On another front, Calleigh, you were right about the Explorer. The house sitter's neighborhood has a far better security system than the barn ever did. The woman across the street saw everything. Exact times, quite a good description. She identified him from the mug shot." He pulled the photo out of Adele's folder, and they all studied him again. "Of course, he would have noticed her, too. That's why they picked the barn for a meeting. You couldn't sneak a mouse into that block without her seeing you. We've got a good description of the car, though, and a partial license plate. We can work on that."
They bent over the file together, discussing it, and none of them noticed the man who exited the elevator. He glanced around - uncertainly, not furtively - then crossed to the reception desk.
"May I help you?" asked Claudia.
"I'm looking for Lieutenant Horatio Caine."
"He's right over there. Horatio!" He looked over at her, and she gestured toward the man. Horatio broke away from the conversation and started toward them, but the stranger met him more than halfway.
"Lieutenant Caine?"
"Yes. May I help you?"
"You already have." The man took a deep breath. "I'm Steven Johnson. Karen Johnson's husband. Linda's father."
The light dawned. "Of course. Are they all right? The ambulance crew didn't think their injuries were serious."
"They're fine. Thanks to you. I just wanted to shake your hand." He captured it, actually, and halfway pumped it off. "Thank you. You saved their lives."
"I'm glad I was there to help." Calleigh and Adele came up curiously to flank him. "This is my wife, Calleigh. Detective Sevilla. This is Steven Johnson, the husband of the woman who was in the accident last night."
Johnson let go of Horatio's hand long enough to capture Calleigh's. "I'm glad to meet you, Mrs. Caine. Your husband was incredible last night." He switched his grip back to Horatio. "I know thank you doesn't seem like enough, but thank you."
"How are they doing?" asked Horatio.
"Karen has a broken ankle. She had surgery this morning. No other injuries except a few bruises. She'll be home for Christmas, they say. Linda should be released later tonight. She only had some cuts and a mild concussion, and they wanted to observe her for a day, just to make sure she was recovering. That was an awfully chilly night for a dunking." Horatio shivered again in memory, and Johnson immediately grabbed his hand again. "Of course, you know that. Linda said you told her every time she complained how cold it was that you were just as cold as she was, so she wasn't feeling it alone. Are you okay, yourself?"
"I'm fine," said Horatio. "Nothing a hot shower wouldn't fix." Calleigh glared at him.
"Again, thank you. Our Christmas will be happy this year because of you." Johnson's eyes suddenly noticed the file Adele was still holding, with the photo on top of it. "Why do you have a picture of Henry?"
Horatio's eyes leaped into flame. "Henry? You know him as Henry?"
"Right. Henry Eddington, my little sister's boyfriend. I must say, I don't like him, though. He makes my skin crawl. Is that a prison shot?"
Adele stepped into the conversation. "Yes. Mr. Johnson, let me get this straight. You know this man as Henry Eddington?" He nodded. "When did you last see him?"
"About two weeks ago."
"Does he have a blue Ford Explorer with a busted left taillight?"
"Yes, he does. How did you know about the taillight?"
Horatio's whole body was consumed with quiet excitement now. "Mr. Johnson, could we talk to you at length? This could be critical to an investigation."
Johnson nodded again. "Of course. I'd do anything I can to help you. Could I call the hospital, first though, to let Karen and Linda know I'll be a little late?"
"Certainly. Claudia will let you use her phone." Johnson returned to the reception desk. Horatio waited until he had picked up the phone, then turned back to Calleigh and Adele, his eyes shining like blue diamonds.
"I think we finally caught a break on this case. As much effort as we put into it, once in a while a clue just falls into our laps, and we do nothing for it. We'll take them any way we can, right ladies?" Too excited to stand still, he walked to the desk to pick up his messages from Claudia. Adele and Calleigh were left staring at each other.
"Did he just say do nothing for it?" asked Adele finally.
"Yep," Calleigh confirmed. "He half freezes himself to death, and he calls it doing nothing." She looked at him with equal measures of admiration and exasperation, a combination she'd never fully understood before knowing Horatio.
Adele shook her head fondly. "He's definitely one of a kind."
"Cal, Adele, come on," Horatio called impatiently. Johnson had finished with his phone call and joined him. He was still looking at Horatio with overwhelming gratitude. Horatio was absolutely intent now, a bloodhound on the track, focused on the case. Shaking her own head slightly, Calleigh went to join her husband, thinking that as brilliant as his mind was, it was the things he didn't notice that made him most remarkable.
***
Albert Benjamin Edwards, a.k.a. Henry Eddington, sat in the witness room in sullen silence. Adele and Horatio left the room in exasperation. All Edwards had said at any point since his arrest was, "I have the right to remain silent."
"He won't give up his associates," said Adele.
"He's thinking of himself," Horatio corrected. "An old con like him knows that sometimes cases do get overturned, or lawyers get people off. Not him, though." It was a fiercely determined promise. "We tie him to the first murder on the fingerprint and acquaintance with the victim. We tie him to Sam's murder on the ring, and Lisa can identify that. Clear chain of evidence all around. The boys are still working on processing that house, so there may be more. I still think the house sitter is involved, too, for providing access to the barn if nothing else. Speed hasn't had time to finish reconstructing that notepad yet, but we know from the owner that the lock code was written on it. It was even labeled barn lock code. But even with the house sitter, there's at least one more person involved. That house sitter wasn't anyone's main accomplice."
"We'll keep working on it," said Adele. "We've got this one, anyway. Whether he talks or not."
"And we've probably saved Johnson's sister," said Horatio. He gave her a tired half-grin. "She should talk to Mrs. Cummings about weak chins."
"I wish I had that whole interview on tape," said Adele.
"What I'm looking forward to," said Horatio, "is Mrs. Cummings on the stand, being cross examined by the defense attorney. He doesn't stand a chance, poor guy."
Adele chuckled. "That will be worth seeing." He really was looking tired, and she continued, "Why don't we quit for the evening? It's 8:00, and tomorrow is also a good day."
"I want to get this case finished by Christmas," said Horatio doggedly.
"We all do, H. But we aren't going to finish it tonight." Horatio's cell phone rang just then, and Adele slipped away with a quiet good night. She ran into Calleigh further down the hall. "We're quitting for the night, Calleigh, whether he wants to or not. Edwards is being booked, but he won't talk. You might have to drag H out of here, though. You know him. Soon as we get some progress, he wants more faster."
"I'll drag him if I have to," said Calleigh. Adele looked up and down the hall, comparing sizes, and grinned.
"Good night, Calleigh."
"Good night, Adele."
As Calleigh approached, she realized that Horatio was talking to Lisa. A quick stab of guilt swept through her again. If she had needed any solid evidence, which she hadn't, that nothing besides the case was going on, this conversation would have provided it. That and Horatio's smile at her over the edge of the phone. Having her there hearing his end did not bother him in the slightest.
"Lisa, what can I do for you?"
Her voice was uncertain, her hesitancy back. "I was just thinking, and there's something I didn't mention to you. I don't know if it matters or not."
"What is it?" said Horatio gently.
"When Ruth brought us the ring, we thought that a boarder had dropped it, or one of their friends. They do bring friends and family with them sometimes, to see the horses. So Sam took it, and she said she was going to ask everyone if it belonged to them."
Horatio tilted his head slightly, thinking. "She was going to ask everyone she saw? Even strangers at the barn?"
"Yes. So I was just wondering, why did they kill her? If she met some people in the aisle, she would have showed them the ring, first thing. So why didn't they just say yes we dropped it, and take it, and leave? Why kill her?"
"That's an interesting question," said Horatio. "There's something not quite right about that crime scene. Also, we've found out that Sam was standing about 10 feet away from the killer, so she wasn't shot as they tried to grab it."
"They wouldn't have had to grab it," Lisa insisted. "She would have just given it to them. Even a stranger. All they had to do was say they were friends of a boarder and claim the ring. She would have asked about the ring herself, I'm sure of it. And I know they were criminals, but don't they want the easiest way to do something?"
"Usually," said Horatio. "Something else must have happened. We're still missing something here. I'll think about that, Lisa. I appreciate you letting me know. The cat hasn't brought you any more evidence, has she?"
Lisa actually laughed. It wasn't much of a laugh, but Horatio gave her credit for the effort. "Three paperclips and a spoon today."
"A spoon?" Drug use sometimes involved spoons.
"One of our spoons. We've got a small fridge in the feed room, and we keep yogurt and stuff, in case we don't have time to really eat. Ruth stole that spoon a week ago. We missed it at the time."
Oh well, two breaks in one day would be too much to hope for. "Well, let me know if she turns up anything else interesting. How are you doing?"
"Okay, I guess."
"Hang in there. And thank you for calling, Lisa. I do think this helps." He snapped the phone shut and turned to Calleigh.
She had been studying him during the conversation. He really did look tired. She was reassured by the fact that he didn't seem to be getting sick, but what the experience had done was to sap all of his reserves. His stamina today had been shot, and Calleigh and Adele both had noticed it. It would probably take him a day or so to snap back, and she was grateful that he seemed to be getting off that lightly. "Let's go home, Horatio. You need to get to bed early tonight. I don't want you to get sick on me."
"I'm not going to get sick," he insisted. "I haven't got time. And we're finally getting somewhere on this case. Besides, I slept for half the day today." He was annoyed himself at his own weakness.
Calleigh gave him her best southern smile. "Now, Horatio, did I say you had to go to sleep?"
He rewound the mental tape of their conversation. "No, actually, you didn't." He shifted a bit closer to her in the hall, putting his arm around her.
"Come on, then. I think I need some more reassurance." Side by side, they left CSI.
***
Calleigh huddled on the bottom stair, her eyes glued to her father. He was sprawled flat beneath the Christmas tree, and a pitiful piece of ribbon stuck out from underneath him, testifying to the squashed popsicle stick house he had fallen on. Her shoulders started to quiver, but she automatically fought for control. She prided herself that she had never cried in front of her father. Not even when he was unconscious. She started to turn to retreat back up the stairs to her room, her lonely sanctuary, and stopped suddenly. Around the far side of the Christmas tree emerged Horatio. He carefully stepped over her father and came straight toward her, his hands reaching for hers. "Come here, beautiful," he said. Calleigh looked to the left and right, unable to believe at first that he was addressing her. When he got too close for her to doubt it, she slowly, uncertainly went forward. Was he sure he wanted to call her? His eyes never wavered, his arms giving her complete welcome. He stopped five feet away, and she went to him, slowly, then faster, then running the last step. His arms wrapped around her securely, and his warm, tall body blocked the view of her father. He hugged her, then stepped back again, and she realized that he had a present in his hand. He offered it to her, and she unwrapped it to reveal a new popsicle stick house. The second time she went to him, she didn't hesitate.
Calleigh's eyes snapped open. Moonlight swept across the bed dimly, and she turned to Horatio. He was there, just like he had been in the dream. Solid and real. He was in that same unnaturally deep, healing sleep he had finally reached the night before, and he did not even stir when she shifted. She reached out to verify that he wasn't running a fever and was still breathing, then settled back to watch him.
The dream had changed. As often has she had had it, it had always ended the same. Until now. This is my new popsicle house, she thought. My new beginning. Maybe I'm finally starting to believe it.
Beautiful. He often called her beautiful, but she had never felt beautiful before she knew him. Ugly, old beyond her years, and world weary, trying desperately to hide the scars on her body and, worse, on her soul so that no one would see. But he called her beautiful, knowing all of the scars. Amazing. He even made her feel beautiful at times, now.
She remembered his question from that afternoon. What would I do without you? Incredible, that he would need her. As unworthy as she felt sometimes of him, he needed her. And he truly did. She thought of what his life had been like without her. Years haunted by his mother's murder, by watching everyone he loved be slaughtered, by responsibility dropped on him far too young. And like her, he had hidden the scars and locked everything up. If anything, he had done it more than she had, and he had kept more seething inside for longer. Years with no one he would let close enough to let them help him shed a piece of the burden, like he had let her that afternoon. Years of thinking he was to blame for all the death that surrounded him, that he had jinxed his loved ones. She still marveled that he hadn't given himself ulcers or dropped dead of a heart attack years ago. Yes, he needed her, as much as she needed him.
Beautiful. Now he was beautiful. Body and soul, the most remarkable person she had ever known. He carried plenty of his own scars, and even the scars were beautiful. She reached out and lightly traced the 4-inch scar down his right temple, right at the edge of his face. The scars prove that it's real, she suddenly realized. No fantasy, no dream would include the scars. Maybe, like she thought he was beautiful, he thought she was too. Scars and all. He had said he wanted Christmas to be different himself this year. He carried as much baggage from the past, if not more than she did. Did he have trouble believing it too, at times? Did he dream of going back to an empty house on Christmas, like all the Christmases past?
She chuckled slightly to herself. Two scarred people, each needing the other, each completing the other, each trying to convince themselves the solitude was finally over. "Boy, we're a pair," she said aloud, fairly certain that he was far enough under that she wouldn't disturb him. "I guess we'll just have to grow young together, Horatio. I think we've both already been old." She leaned over and kissed him, then settled down against him again, her body spooning into his, yin and yang. She could feel him breathing, the even rhythm of life reassuring her. Gradually, she drifted back off to sleep. She did not dream of Christmases from childhood anymore but jumbled, incoherent dreams of wandering, through forests, through mazes, through canyons, looking for the way out, knowing absolutely that there was a way out somewhere. She kept waking up during the rest of the night to make sure that Horatio was still there. He always was. And she would touch him, reassuring herself, and fall asleep again.
Traditional carol, "Do You Hear What I Hear?"
***
The Hummer navigated the Miami traffic like a shark swimming in a school of smaller fish, the other cars giving way respectfully. Horatio reached the house of Valentine's owner and pulled to the curb behind Adele's car. She exited the house while he was still halfway up the sidewalk. "H, you okay?" She knew the question would annoy him, but she honestly wanted to know.
"Fine," he said shortly. "What's been happening?"
"Eric and Speed are processing the house. Nothing so far. I'm not getting anywhere with our house sitter. He hasn't seen anything, doesn't know anything, never saw Albert Edwards since getting out. Of course, he's lying, but he won't budge."
"You think it would make any difference to have two people questioning him?"
"Good cop, bad cop? No. I think he's more afraid of Edwards than he is of us."
Horatio considered. "Could be. He's not a big-time crook, from his record. Not in Edwards' league. This will be his first accessory to murder charge."
"If we can prove it." Adele was dedicated to her job, but she didn't let it eat under her skin the way he did. You did the best you could do, and that was the best you could do.
He glared at her. "We'll prove it. But probably you're right. If he's that scared, he won't turn state's evidence on them until we have a definite link to tie him in, one he can see." He turned back to look at the twitching curtain across the street. "Did you find out who lives there?"
"Gratia Cummings, 82-year-old widow."
"82-year-old widow," Horatio repeated thoughtfully. "That's perfect." He turned his back on the house sitter and headed across the street. Adele sighed and followed him. Technically, the detective should have the lead over the CSI, but it never worked that way with Horatio. His results spoke for themselves, though.
The widow had seen them coming, of course, but she had to put on an act, waiting for the doorbell, then approaching after several seconds, making it look like she had been busy. Her body was stooped, and she walked with a cane, but the beady eyes were as alert as a robin's. "Mrs. Cummings?" Horatio put on his best respectful, courtly demeanor.
"Yes."
"I'm Horatio Caine, and this is Detective Sevilla, Miami-Dade PD. Could we talk to you for a minute?"
"Oh my goodness, I've never talked to the police before. What is it about?"
"We're just looking for someone observant who might be able to help us." He accented observant and help ever so slightly, and the subliminal stroke to her pride was received.
"Well, anything I can do, of course. Come in, come in." If it was possible to bustle at a slow limp with a cane, she did, leading the way to the kitchen table. Horatio glanced back at the window facing the street. A comfortable chair was sideways next to it, along with a pair of binoculars on the small table nearby. This is perfect, he thought again. Albert Edwards had been wise to choose the barn for a criminal rendezvous over that house. Horatio would back Gratia Cummings against Edwards any day.
"Sit down, sit down," she fluttered. "Now, I'll just make us all some hot tea. Won't that be nice?"
Adele opened her mouth to refuse the offer, and Horatio cut her off. "That would be delightful." Mrs. Cummings smiled at him and turned to rummage in the cabinets. Adele looked at Horatio, then shook her head slightly, effectively surrendering any pretense of control over this interview.
Mrs. Cummings filled the kettle carefully and set it on the stove. Her hands were gnarled with arthritis, but Horatio didn't offer to do it for her. She would have been offended. Once it was heating, she dropped into the third chair at the table with a slight groan. "I declare, every winter, my arthritis gets worse. Wouldn't think it would bother me in Florida, but it does. You young people can't imagine what you'll have to put up with as you get old. Now, then, young man, what did you want my help with?"
Horatio, who couldn't remember the last time he had been called young man, smiled at her sweetly. "We're interested in a Ford Explorer that might have been at the house across the street recently." He would trust Calleigh's guess on the vehicle make.
"Let me think. They're away on vacation, you know. And that young man house sitting, I don't like his looks at all. Weak chin. My mother always told me, never trust a man with a weak chin."
"Excellent advice," said Horatio. She eyed him assessingly, but apparently his chin passed inspection.
"There was a night about a week ago, I think. It's hard to remember dates, of course." The tea kettle sang behind her, and she heaved herself back up with musical accompaniment to fix the tea in three china cups. She placed a cup ceremoniously in front of each of her guests, then painfully settled herself again. "I had a hip replacement a year ago, and I declare, it's worse now than it was before. Should have just left well enough alone, I guess. Now about the Explorer. It was last Thursday night, 9:05 PM. It came with one man driving."
"What did he look like?" asked Horatio.
"Dark hair with a beard. My mother always told me, never trust a man with a beard. They use them, you know, to hide weak chins." She eyed Horatio's features again, and Adele, across the table, suddenly progressed from impatience to enjoyment. This interview was worth seeing. She settled back and sipped her tea.
"Your mother was a very wise woman," said Horatio. "I'm sure she passed along her wisdom to her daughter, too." Mrs. Cummings tittered self- consciously, and Horatio reached across to Adele's file, removing the picture of Edwards. "Mrs. Cummings, was this the man?"
"Oh goodness gracious me, it is. I only saw him in the street light, but I'd swear on a stack of Bibles." She studied the prisoner information printed across the bottom. "I knew he wasn't a nice man. The minute I saw him, I said, if my mother were here, she'd have all sorts of things to say about this one. It wasn't just the beard. He looked all around, all ways up and down the street. Don't ever trust a man who looks all around like he's still afraid his mother's watching him."
Horatio kept both eyes glued to her face attentively and didn't even look at the tea he was sipping. "What did the man do, after he looked around furtively?"
"Furtively!" She cackled like a hen. "That's a good word. My mother would have liked that one. He went up to the door and rang the doorbell. Rang it three times. Then the house sitter opened the door. He didn't want to let him in, and the dark man pushed him back inside. Then he followed him in. They stayed in the house for 1 hour 23 minutes." She must have felt Adele's look, because she turned to her for the first time. "It's not that I was snooping, of course, but I needed to keep an eye on the time so I'd know when to take my next pill. For my arthritis, you know." She turned back to Horatio, and her tone sweetened again. "The man came out alone, and he stood by the Explorer and looked up and down the street - furtively." She eyed him for approval, and he nodded in a pleased way.
"You're very perceptive, Mrs. Cummings. Your mother taught you well." He's enjoying this, thought Adele. Horatio was, actually. He had never known his own grandparents, and this feisty 82-year-old appealed to him irresistibly. "Did the car come back any time in the next few days? No, did it come back at any point at all since then?" His expression changed slightly, for just a second, as he broadened the question.
"It drove by the next morning. It was 5:32 AM. I don't spend my time spying on the neighborhood, but I couldn't sleep because of my arthritis, so I was looking at my watch, so I'd know when to take my next pill. It just drove by real slow, and the same man was looking around furtively. I saw the beard in the street light. Don't ever trust a man with a beard, my mother said. It just went on by after a minute. I haven't seen it again to this day. No other Explorers, either. It's a residential neighborhood; you don't just drive through. Most of the traffic here belongs here."
"Could you describe the Explorer, Mrs. Cummings?"
"It was dark blue, solid all over. Looked fairly new. It was shining, in the street lights. But it did have a busted taillight on the left side."
He leaned forward a bit. "Do you remember the license plate?"
She was offended. "Mr. Caine, I am not a busybody! Why on earth would I sit here looking at people's license plates? Mind your own business, that's what my mother always taught me." She glared at him. He met her gaze evenly, refusing to be furtive or weak-chinned, and she smiled at him again after a minute. "It started with S, though. I happened to notice that. Just by chance, you know."
"Of course." Horatio finished his tea and stood up. "Mrs. Cummings, you are a remarkably observant citizen and a very coherent witness. I congratulate you on your perception and your sense of duty." She extended her hand to him, and he bowed over it like she was royalty. Adele preceded him down the hall to the door. Once outside by the cars, she nearly fell over laughing.
"Adele," said Horatio. She looked back at him, and he jerked his head slightly toward the house they had left and the twitching curtain. "Smile. You're on Candid Camera."
***
After checking in with Speed and Delko - nothing so far but slow going - and a brief and totally unproductive second conversation with the house sitter, who was indeed terrified, Horatio and Adele drove back in their separate vehicles to CSI. They were deep in conversation as they exited the elevator, and they nearly ran over Calleigh. "Sorry, Cal," said Horatio. "Any luck on your end?"
"Bits and pieces, but I can't make anything out of them. I was about to go looking for you, actually. I've gone over those measurements from the crime scene twenty different ways, and it still comes out the same. The shooter was about 10 feet from Sam when he took the shot."
Horatio frowned thoughtfully. "That's odd."
"I thought so too. That ought to tell me something, but I don't know what."
"Argument shootings or force shootings, like they were snatching the ring, would be a lot closer range. And she wasn't running. Alexx said she was looking at them. It's almost like the scenario changed. A casual conversation that suddenly became menacing." He mulled that one over for a minute, Calleigh and Adele waiting in respectful silence. Finally, he shook his head. "We haven't got all the pieces yet. That means something, though. They weren't just grabbing the ring. On another front, Calleigh, you were right about the Explorer. The house sitter's neighborhood has a far better security system than the barn ever did. The woman across the street saw everything. Exact times, quite a good description. She identified him from the mug shot." He pulled the photo out of Adele's folder, and they all studied him again. "Of course, he would have noticed her, too. That's why they picked the barn for a meeting. You couldn't sneak a mouse into that block without her seeing you. We've got a good description of the car, though, and a partial license plate. We can work on that."
They bent over the file together, discussing it, and none of them noticed the man who exited the elevator. He glanced around - uncertainly, not furtively - then crossed to the reception desk.
"May I help you?" asked Claudia.
"I'm looking for Lieutenant Horatio Caine."
"He's right over there. Horatio!" He looked over at her, and she gestured toward the man. Horatio broke away from the conversation and started toward them, but the stranger met him more than halfway.
"Lieutenant Caine?"
"Yes. May I help you?"
"You already have." The man took a deep breath. "I'm Steven Johnson. Karen Johnson's husband. Linda's father."
The light dawned. "Of course. Are they all right? The ambulance crew didn't think their injuries were serious."
"They're fine. Thanks to you. I just wanted to shake your hand." He captured it, actually, and halfway pumped it off. "Thank you. You saved their lives."
"I'm glad I was there to help." Calleigh and Adele came up curiously to flank him. "This is my wife, Calleigh. Detective Sevilla. This is Steven Johnson, the husband of the woman who was in the accident last night."
Johnson let go of Horatio's hand long enough to capture Calleigh's. "I'm glad to meet you, Mrs. Caine. Your husband was incredible last night." He switched his grip back to Horatio. "I know thank you doesn't seem like enough, but thank you."
"How are they doing?" asked Horatio.
"Karen has a broken ankle. She had surgery this morning. No other injuries except a few bruises. She'll be home for Christmas, they say. Linda should be released later tonight. She only had some cuts and a mild concussion, and they wanted to observe her for a day, just to make sure she was recovering. That was an awfully chilly night for a dunking." Horatio shivered again in memory, and Johnson immediately grabbed his hand again. "Of course, you know that. Linda said you told her every time she complained how cold it was that you were just as cold as she was, so she wasn't feeling it alone. Are you okay, yourself?"
"I'm fine," said Horatio. "Nothing a hot shower wouldn't fix." Calleigh glared at him.
"Again, thank you. Our Christmas will be happy this year because of you." Johnson's eyes suddenly noticed the file Adele was still holding, with the photo on top of it. "Why do you have a picture of Henry?"
Horatio's eyes leaped into flame. "Henry? You know him as Henry?"
"Right. Henry Eddington, my little sister's boyfriend. I must say, I don't like him, though. He makes my skin crawl. Is that a prison shot?"
Adele stepped into the conversation. "Yes. Mr. Johnson, let me get this straight. You know this man as Henry Eddington?" He nodded. "When did you last see him?"
"About two weeks ago."
"Does he have a blue Ford Explorer with a busted left taillight?"
"Yes, he does. How did you know about the taillight?"
Horatio's whole body was consumed with quiet excitement now. "Mr. Johnson, could we talk to you at length? This could be critical to an investigation."
Johnson nodded again. "Of course. I'd do anything I can to help you. Could I call the hospital, first though, to let Karen and Linda know I'll be a little late?"
"Certainly. Claudia will let you use her phone." Johnson returned to the reception desk. Horatio waited until he had picked up the phone, then turned back to Calleigh and Adele, his eyes shining like blue diamonds.
"I think we finally caught a break on this case. As much effort as we put into it, once in a while a clue just falls into our laps, and we do nothing for it. We'll take them any way we can, right ladies?" Too excited to stand still, he walked to the desk to pick up his messages from Claudia. Adele and Calleigh were left staring at each other.
"Did he just say do nothing for it?" asked Adele finally.
"Yep," Calleigh confirmed. "He half freezes himself to death, and he calls it doing nothing." She looked at him with equal measures of admiration and exasperation, a combination she'd never fully understood before knowing Horatio.
Adele shook her head fondly. "He's definitely one of a kind."
"Cal, Adele, come on," Horatio called impatiently. Johnson had finished with his phone call and joined him. He was still looking at Horatio with overwhelming gratitude. Horatio was absolutely intent now, a bloodhound on the track, focused on the case. Shaking her own head slightly, Calleigh went to join her husband, thinking that as brilliant as his mind was, it was the things he didn't notice that made him most remarkable.
***
Albert Benjamin Edwards, a.k.a. Henry Eddington, sat in the witness room in sullen silence. Adele and Horatio left the room in exasperation. All Edwards had said at any point since his arrest was, "I have the right to remain silent."
"He won't give up his associates," said Adele.
"He's thinking of himself," Horatio corrected. "An old con like him knows that sometimes cases do get overturned, or lawyers get people off. Not him, though." It was a fiercely determined promise. "We tie him to the first murder on the fingerprint and acquaintance with the victim. We tie him to Sam's murder on the ring, and Lisa can identify that. Clear chain of evidence all around. The boys are still working on processing that house, so there may be more. I still think the house sitter is involved, too, for providing access to the barn if nothing else. Speed hasn't had time to finish reconstructing that notepad yet, but we know from the owner that the lock code was written on it. It was even labeled barn lock code. But even with the house sitter, there's at least one more person involved. That house sitter wasn't anyone's main accomplice."
"We'll keep working on it," said Adele. "We've got this one, anyway. Whether he talks or not."
"And we've probably saved Johnson's sister," said Horatio. He gave her a tired half-grin. "She should talk to Mrs. Cummings about weak chins."
"I wish I had that whole interview on tape," said Adele.
"What I'm looking forward to," said Horatio, "is Mrs. Cummings on the stand, being cross examined by the defense attorney. He doesn't stand a chance, poor guy."
Adele chuckled. "That will be worth seeing." He really was looking tired, and she continued, "Why don't we quit for the evening? It's 8:00, and tomorrow is also a good day."
"I want to get this case finished by Christmas," said Horatio doggedly.
"We all do, H. But we aren't going to finish it tonight." Horatio's cell phone rang just then, and Adele slipped away with a quiet good night. She ran into Calleigh further down the hall. "We're quitting for the night, Calleigh, whether he wants to or not. Edwards is being booked, but he won't talk. You might have to drag H out of here, though. You know him. Soon as we get some progress, he wants more faster."
"I'll drag him if I have to," said Calleigh. Adele looked up and down the hall, comparing sizes, and grinned.
"Good night, Calleigh."
"Good night, Adele."
As Calleigh approached, she realized that Horatio was talking to Lisa. A quick stab of guilt swept through her again. If she had needed any solid evidence, which she hadn't, that nothing besides the case was going on, this conversation would have provided it. That and Horatio's smile at her over the edge of the phone. Having her there hearing his end did not bother him in the slightest.
"Lisa, what can I do for you?"
Her voice was uncertain, her hesitancy back. "I was just thinking, and there's something I didn't mention to you. I don't know if it matters or not."
"What is it?" said Horatio gently.
"When Ruth brought us the ring, we thought that a boarder had dropped it, or one of their friends. They do bring friends and family with them sometimes, to see the horses. So Sam took it, and she said she was going to ask everyone if it belonged to them."
Horatio tilted his head slightly, thinking. "She was going to ask everyone she saw? Even strangers at the barn?"
"Yes. So I was just wondering, why did they kill her? If she met some people in the aisle, she would have showed them the ring, first thing. So why didn't they just say yes we dropped it, and take it, and leave? Why kill her?"
"That's an interesting question," said Horatio. "There's something not quite right about that crime scene. Also, we've found out that Sam was standing about 10 feet away from the killer, so she wasn't shot as they tried to grab it."
"They wouldn't have had to grab it," Lisa insisted. "She would have just given it to them. Even a stranger. All they had to do was say they were friends of a boarder and claim the ring. She would have asked about the ring herself, I'm sure of it. And I know they were criminals, but don't they want the easiest way to do something?"
"Usually," said Horatio. "Something else must have happened. We're still missing something here. I'll think about that, Lisa. I appreciate you letting me know. The cat hasn't brought you any more evidence, has she?"
Lisa actually laughed. It wasn't much of a laugh, but Horatio gave her credit for the effort. "Three paperclips and a spoon today."
"A spoon?" Drug use sometimes involved spoons.
"One of our spoons. We've got a small fridge in the feed room, and we keep yogurt and stuff, in case we don't have time to really eat. Ruth stole that spoon a week ago. We missed it at the time."
Oh well, two breaks in one day would be too much to hope for. "Well, let me know if she turns up anything else interesting. How are you doing?"
"Okay, I guess."
"Hang in there. And thank you for calling, Lisa. I do think this helps." He snapped the phone shut and turned to Calleigh.
She had been studying him during the conversation. He really did look tired. She was reassured by the fact that he didn't seem to be getting sick, but what the experience had done was to sap all of his reserves. His stamina today had been shot, and Calleigh and Adele both had noticed it. It would probably take him a day or so to snap back, and she was grateful that he seemed to be getting off that lightly. "Let's go home, Horatio. You need to get to bed early tonight. I don't want you to get sick on me."
"I'm not going to get sick," he insisted. "I haven't got time. And we're finally getting somewhere on this case. Besides, I slept for half the day today." He was annoyed himself at his own weakness.
Calleigh gave him her best southern smile. "Now, Horatio, did I say you had to go to sleep?"
He rewound the mental tape of their conversation. "No, actually, you didn't." He shifted a bit closer to her in the hall, putting his arm around her.
"Come on, then. I think I need some more reassurance." Side by side, they left CSI.
***
Calleigh huddled on the bottom stair, her eyes glued to her father. He was sprawled flat beneath the Christmas tree, and a pitiful piece of ribbon stuck out from underneath him, testifying to the squashed popsicle stick house he had fallen on. Her shoulders started to quiver, but she automatically fought for control. She prided herself that she had never cried in front of her father. Not even when he was unconscious. She started to turn to retreat back up the stairs to her room, her lonely sanctuary, and stopped suddenly. Around the far side of the Christmas tree emerged Horatio. He carefully stepped over her father and came straight toward her, his hands reaching for hers. "Come here, beautiful," he said. Calleigh looked to the left and right, unable to believe at first that he was addressing her. When he got too close for her to doubt it, she slowly, uncertainly went forward. Was he sure he wanted to call her? His eyes never wavered, his arms giving her complete welcome. He stopped five feet away, and she went to him, slowly, then faster, then running the last step. His arms wrapped around her securely, and his warm, tall body blocked the view of her father. He hugged her, then stepped back again, and she realized that he had a present in his hand. He offered it to her, and she unwrapped it to reveal a new popsicle stick house. The second time she went to him, she didn't hesitate.
Calleigh's eyes snapped open. Moonlight swept across the bed dimly, and she turned to Horatio. He was there, just like he had been in the dream. Solid and real. He was in that same unnaturally deep, healing sleep he had finally reached the night before, and he did not even stir when she shifted. She reached out to verify that he wasn't running a fever and was still breathing, then settled back to watch him.
The dream had changed. As often has she had had it, it had always ended the same. Until now. This is my new popsicle house, she thought. My new beginning. Maybe I'm finally starting to believe it.
Beautiful. He often called her beautiful, but she had never felt beautiful before she knew him. Ugly, old beyond her years, and world weary, trying desperately to hide the scars on her body and, worse, on her soul so that no one would see. But he called her beautiful, knowing all of the scars. Amazing. He even made her feel beautiful at times, now.
She remembered his question from that afternoon. What would I do without you? Incredible, that he would need her. As unworthy as she felt sometimes of him, he needed her. And he truly did. She thought of what his life had been like without her. Years haunted by his mother's murder, by watching everyone he loved be slaughtered, by responsibility dropped on him far too young. And like her, he had hidden the scars and locked everything up. If anything, he had done it more than she had, and he had kept more seething inside for longer. Years with no one he would let close enough to let them help him shed a piece of the burden, like he had let her that afternoon. Years of thinking he was to blame for all the death that surrounded him, that he had jinxed his loved ones. She still marveled that he hadn't given himself ulcers or dropped dead of a heart attack years ago. Yes, he needed her, as much as she needed him.
Beautiful. Now he was beautiful. Body and soul, the most remarkable person she had ever known. He carried plenty of his own scars, and even the scars were beautiful. She reached out and lightly traced the 4-inch scar down his right temple, right at the edge of his face. The scars prove that it's real, she suddenly realized. No fantasy, no dream would include the scars. Maybe, like she thought he was beautiful, he thought she was too. Scars and all. He had said he wanted Christmas to be different himself this year. He carried as much baggage from the past, if not more than she did. Did he have trouble believing it too, at times? Did he dream of going back to an empty house on Christmas, like all the Christmases past?
She chuckled slightly to herself. Two scarred people, each needing the other, each completing the other, each trying to convince themselves the solitude was finally over. "Boy, we're a pair," she said aloud, fairly certain that he was far enough under that she wouldn't disturb him. "I guess we'll just have to grow young together, Horatio. I think we've both already been old." She leaned over and kissed him, then settled down against him again, her body spooning into his, yin and yang. She could feel him breathing, the even rhythm of life reassuring her. Gradually, she drifted back off to sleep. She did not dream of Christmases from childhood anymore but jumbled, incoherent dreams of wandering, through forests, through mazes, through canyons, looking for the way out, knowing absolutely that there was a way out somewhere. She kept waking up during the rest of the night to make sure that Horatio was still there. He always was. And she would touch him, reassuring herself, and fall asleep again.