"When a doctor does go wrong, he is the first of criminals. He has nerve,
and he has knowledge."
Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, "The Adventure of the Speckled Band"
***
Eric snapped his cell phone shut and turned to Speed. "H and Calleigh are going to go talk to Karen."
Speed gave a noncommittal grunt. He was staring at the clear container holding the plastic sheeting as if he could make evidence appear by pure concentration. After all morning at the apartment, he had spent all afternoon trying to develop fingerprints on the plastic sheeting, processing it one tedious square foot at a time. "You find anything else in her address book?"
"Nothing that jumps out. I'm going to make a copy of the whole thing, though, for H to look at. One of the names might mean something to him. He said they'd proved the letters are fake."
"Great." Speed suddenly leaned forward, peering through the sides as the fumes inside surrounded the plastic. "I think I've got one here." Eric came over to watch eagerly. "Yep, beautiful. Three fingers there, probably thumb and first two." Speed opened the container, removed the cut square of plastic, and started the process to record those prints and run them through AFIS.
"Speed," Eric started, then hesitated.
"What's up, man?"
"What do you think is going on?"
Speed gave a martyred sigh. "I thought that's what we've been trying to work out all day."
"No, not with the case. I mean with Horatio. About last week and timing. We're missing a lot of background there."
"No kidding." Speed started the database search. "No point in pushing Calleigh on it, though. If she says she's not talking, she's not talking."
"Yeah, but it bugs me. Something's wrong there. So I came in early this morning and did some research."
"Delko, we promised not to take it any further."
"No, we just promised not to ask him. I'm not going to ask him. No reason I can't look around on my own, though." Speed looked away from the shifting AFIS screen to meet his eyes. "Something's wrong. Maybe we could help with it." CSI was part of Eric's family, and he couldn't just stand by if something was wrong in his family. It wasn't in his nature.
"I don't think Calleigh wants our help. Or H either." They looked at each other for a minute. "So what did you find out this morning?"
"I was checking the vacation records. You know, H has always taken the first week in April off every single year as vacation for the last 15 years? Probably before that, too, but that's as far back as the computerized records went. CSI, Bomb Squad, Homicide. Always the same week."
"15 years?"
"15 years. Up until last year, and last year he was scheduled and had to cancel. You remember that case where the guy's identical twin brother committed the murder while he was establishing the alibi in Daytona Beach? That week. H never was himself that week."
"Yeah, I remember that one. He was out of it that week." Speed stared at Delko. "He said something last night about an anniversary dinner. And it wasn't their wedding anniversary, even if Calleigh said so. But what's it the anniversary of?"
"I took it as far as the computerized records went. No clue."
"Got to be something major, to him anyway, if he takes it every year. Something older than 15 years. Maybe we could go down to the newspaper office. They've got microfilm archives that are pretty organized. Scan the news from the first week of April every year prior to that date."
"We don't know it was news. To anyone but him, anyway."
"It's a starting point." Speed was starting to get into the chase, too. "You're right, man. 15 years. Something's going on there."
"You doing anything tonight? The newspaper will be open, getting the morning edition ready."
"Why not? It's not like I have plans."
"You still haven't heard back from Breeze?"
"Nope. I really liked her, too."
"Too early to give up, Speed. Women can sulk for ages sometimes. One day is nothing."
"Thanks for the encouragement," Speed retorted. AFIS suddenly beeped, and both of them instantly turned professional again. "Brian Aster. Served time for manslaughter, got out two years ago." He studied the records. "No connection to Horatio I can see, though. And he's stayed clean. He's off parole, even."
"Better call Tripp. I'll go make copies of this address book." Eric opened it again, looking at the neat, organized print. A woman's life contacts, all in perfect order. "How do people live like this?" His address book was full of scratched-out entries and interfiled with Post-It notes and bar napkins.
"Beats me." Speed didn't have half the contacts Eric did, but he didn't even have an address book. Numbers he needed were jotted on bits of paper here and there, scattered around his apartment, the most important on the fridge. He pulled out his cell phone to call Tripp, but as the number dialed, his mind was back on Horatio again. First week in April, for 15 years. At least 15 years. There had to be something big there.
***
The door opened, and Karen Simpson looked out, dividing a puzzled glance between Horatio and Calleigh. "Can I help you?"
"Ms. Simpson?" She nodded. "I'm Horatio Caine, and this is my wife, Calleigh. We're with the Miami-Dade PD." Both suspended from it, but he didn't mention that part.
"Horatio Caine," she repeated thoughtfully. The name obviously rang a bell, but it was a distant, muted bell.
"I'm Marcella's ex-husband."
"Oh, right, of course. Sorry. She only mentioned your name once or twice." She looked at him with interest, mentally pairing him with Marcella.
"Could we talk to you for a few minutes?" asked Calleigh.
"I've got to be at work at 5:00. You can have half an hour. I work second shift." She backed away from the door and let them in. "Is this about the murder investigation?"
"Yes," said Horatio. True enough. She obviously didn't know that he was the prime suspect. He felt a sudden wave of gratitude toward the captain. He had acted on the initial evidence, as he was required to do, but he had kept Horatio's name out of the papers for the moment.
"We got your name from her address book," said Calleigh, as they sat down around her living room. "How long had you been friends?"
"Four years. I was probably her best friend. We didn't get to see each other that often, because she worked days and I worked evenings. We'd meet for coffee once a week on my lunch break, though. 10:00 p.m. Just to talk for a few minutes, keep in touch."
"Where did you meet?" asked Horatio.
"At the truck stop where I work."
"When did you see her last?"
"Thursday night, let's see. It was March 30. And I should've met her the 6th, but she didn't show. I called and left her a message, but it wasn't written in stone. I just thought something had come up." She broke off suddenly, realizing exactly what had come up.
"You didn't contact her at any point in the week between those dates?"
"No. Like I said, we both had busy lives. It wasn't like we talked every day."
Horatio leaned forward slightly. "Ms. Simpson, was Marcella seeing anyone?"
"A man, you mean? No. She didn't hate them, but she had no use for them. Totally career minded. The few times I heard her mention you, it wasn't complimentary."
"I'm sure of that," he said, smiling at her.
"What did she say about him?" Calleigh couldn't resist asking. Horatio frowned at her slightly, and she met his eyes steadily.
"The last time was last summer. You were on TV. A bridge fell or something." She looked from one to the other to see if they were following her, and they both nodded. "I made some comment about how you couldn't be that bad, if you did what you did then. She said. . . " She broke off suddenly.
"Go ahead," urged Calleigh.
"She said you were only open and caring with strangers, not with people you knew."
Horatio actually flinched, and Calleigh made another note on her list of things to discuss with Marcella in the hereafter. "She was wrong," she said fiercely.
Karen looked sheepish. "Her comment, not mine. Sorry."
"We did ask for it." Horatio gave her a reassuring smile. "You're sure she hadn't met a man in the last year or so?"
"Positive. I can't imagine her in a relationship. She was married to her job."
"What was her job?" asked Horatio. She looked at him, surprised. "No, I don't know. We didn't keep in touch. She told me she didn't want to."
"She taught at the University. History."
"She always liked history," Horatio said, remembering her alive for once.
"And she wasn't missed there for a week?" asked Calleigh.
"It was spring break." Karen was looking guilty again, thinking that maybe she should have missed Marcella herself sooner.
Horatio spoke quickly, to distract her. "Did she have any good friends she'd made in the past year? Not a romantic relationship? Anyone she mentioned at all?" He was more sure than ever that she wouldn't have mentioned personal details about him to a casual acquaintance. Karen obviously knew nothing of it, and she had been Marcella's best friend.
Karen took time to think about it. "She really didn't have many friends. No one she was in close contact with except me. In fact, she'd been a little depressed the last few years. Mid life crisis kind of thing. She'd been seeing a psychiatrist."
Horatio actually jumped, and Karen eyed him warily. His eyes met Calleigh's with the fire and intensity they always had on a case when he suddenly saw the answer, and she followed his mental leap. A psychiatrist. A psychiatrist who was also a criminal. That fit so well that it sent shivers down her spine. Who better to know how to manipulate people? For the first time, she thought of Marcella as a victim in this, too. "What was his name?" Horatio asked eagerly. Karen was still staring at him, taken aback at the sudden change. Horatio pulled himself together and damped the fire a bit. "Did she ever mention his name?"
"No," said Karen.
"And she'd been seeing him how long?" asked Calleigh.
"A year, maybe." She glanced at her watch. "I've got to get ready for work now."
Horatio and Calleigh both stood up. "Thank you for your help, Ms. Simpson," said Horatio sincerely.
"I hope you catch this man," she said. "Do you think it was someone she knew?"
"We can't reveal details of the investigation, I'm afraid," said Horatio. "But we will catch him." It was a fierce vow, and Karen, looking at him, couldn't imagine how Marcella had said that this man didn't care.
***
"A psychiatrist," said Calleigh, back in the car. "Boy, that would fit things. So how many psychiatrists do you know who have grudges against you?"
Horatio's face fell. "None."
"None? Come on, there's got to be a connection."
"I'm sure of it, but I don't know what it is." He stared into space. "Maybe we'll find it in her address book. Canceled checks from her bank. Somewhere, she'll have his name written down. She was very organized. You know, that fits with the whole feel of this case, though. The technical parts, like my signature on the letters, are pretty good on the surface, but there are errors. That part's incomplete. It's the manipulation that's professional." He shuddered again, and Calleigh reached out and squeezed his arm.
"We're making progress, Horatio. We know what kind of person we're after now. Maybe Speed can run a cross reference with your cases and psychiatrists."
"Maybe." His cell phone rang, and he snapped it open. "Horatio."
"Tripp." The name was unnecessary. That gruff voice could only go with one person. "What did the graphologist say?"
"They're fakes, and he's willing to tell you so."
Tripp gave a faint sigh of relief. "I need you back down at Headquarters."
"Why?"
"Speedle found prints on the plastic. Ex-con named Brian Aster. Name mean anything to you?"
Horatio ran a brief mental search. "Nothing."
"I pulled him in for questioning, and he swears he doesn't know anything. But the prints are there. Something doesn't smell right on this one, though. I really think he might be telling the truth. I'd like to let him bump into you accidentally, see if I can jolt him."
"A reverse line up," said Horatio.
"Right."
"Okay, we'll head that way. We just talked to Karen. I'll tell you later." He snapped the phone shut and turned to Calleigh. "Speed found fingerprints on the plastic, and Tripp pulled the owner in. Man named Brian Aster. The name doesn't mean anything to me. Tripp wants to see if he recognizes me."
"Is he a psychiatrist?" Calleigh wondered.
"Let's go ask him, shall we?" Horatio put the car in gear and pulled out smoothly into the late afternoon traffic.
***
Horatio and Calleigh stood on the other side of the one way glass, looking at Brian Aster. He seemed nervous in the way that ex-cons trying to go straight are. Horatio had never seen him before. "And somehow I don't think he's a psychiatrist," he said, watching Aster nervously fumble with an unlit cigarette under Tripp's disapproving eye. "Let's see if he knows me." He opened the door and marched in, oozing confidence. "Tripp, I need to talk to you about something."
Tripp glared at him with fake disapproval, but his focus was actually sideways, on Aster. "In a minute, Horatio. Let me finish up here." Aster was looking from one to the other of them curiously, but there wasn't even a flicker of recognition. Tripp was watching his eyes, and Horatio was watching his hands. Nothing. "Okay, so all you can tell me is you don't know how your fingerprints got there."
The cigarette snapped between his fingers. "I know it sounds lame, but it's true. I don't know how it happened. And I didn't kill the woman. I've done my time, learned my lesson." Horatio, studying him carefully, believed him. He wasn't concealing something, just nervous from past experiences with the police. But in that case, how did his fingerprints get there? Maybe Horatio wasn't the only one being set up.
"Mr. Aster," he said silkily, cutting right over the start of Tripp's next question, "have you ever seen a psychiatrist?"
The head came up instantly in a wave of decisiveness. "A shrink? Hell, no. Wouldn't go to one if you paid me." For that instant, the hands stopped fidgeting. The reaction had been automatic, not calculated, but definitely the strongest one he'd shown. Horatio tightened up himself, and Calleigh, watching him, was reminded of a bird dog on point.
"Thank you, Mr. Aster," he said. "I think that will be all for the moment, won't it, Tripp?"
Tripp was staring at Horatio. "For the moment," he agreed finally, "but you are not to leave the city. Thank you." Aster looked from one to the other of them, wondering who in fact was in charge here, then quickly scrambled up before Tripp changed his mind.
Tripp turned to Horatio as the door closed. "Has he ever seen a psychiatrist?"
"Marcella was seeing a psychiatrist for the past year at least. Professionally, not personally. I think he's the one behind this."
Tripp pulled out his notebook. "What's his name?"
"I don't know," said Horatio.
"Office address? Telephone number? Any identifying information at all?"
"I'm still working on that part," said Horatio.
"What's his motive?"
"I'm still working on that part, too."
Tripp eyed him steadily. "When you find him, make yourself an appointment. Now, have you ever seen Aster?"
"No. And he didn't know me. I think he's being set up, too."
"Why would someone set him up? Wait, don't tell me, you're still working on that part." Tripp sighed. "What about the graphologist and Karen?" Horatio gave him a report from the two appointments and handed over the graphologist's card. Tripp pocketed it, and the three of them started out of the interrogation room together. "So you think Aster's telling the truth?"
"Yes. His answer about the psychiatrist was interesting, though. I don't think he was lying. He answered too quickly to think about it first. But the whole tone changed there."
"Forget the tone and explain the fingerprints. I'm going to have his place searched for the gun," said Tripp.
"Detective Tripp!" The three of them turned to see the captain, along with Adele Sevilla, heading down the hall toward them. "How is your investigation coming?"
"We're making some progress," said Tripp. "CSI matched a fingerprint, and I just talked to one suspect."
"Keep me informed," said the captain. He didn't say anything to Horatio, but his eyes spoke for him. Duty warring with regret. "I'll be glad to get this cleared up."
"So will I," said Horatio. Adele bumped him lightly on the shoulder. The captain turned toward Calleigh.
"I understand that you assaulted Lieutenant Wilson this morning."
"Yes, sir, in front of witnesses. And threatened to do it again. What's my punishment?" She met his eyes unflinchingly.
"You assaulted Wilson?" Even Tripp sounded impressed.
The captain's shoulders quivered slightly, and he looked at the floor for a moment, regathering his control. "I'll take a few days to decide that. Meanwhile, I am backing him up on your suspension."
"Thank you, sir," said Calleigh. The captain abruptly turned and walked off. His shoulders were still quivering. Adele shot Calleigh a wide grin as she followed him.
"We'd better get out of here, Cal. We are suspended, after all," said Horatio.
"Right. Good night, Tripp."
"Night," he said gruffly. He watched as they walked away, then turned, his face a stoic mask, the control perfect. Frank Tripp walked back into the interrogation room, closed the door, and leaned against it, safely out of view from the window. Then he laughed until he could hardly stand. Finally, under perfect control again, he exited the room and headed back for his desk.
***
"Horatio! Calleigh!" Alexx's voice caught them as they were getting into the car. They both turned to face her as she jogged briskly up. "Eric wanted me to bring you this. He and Speed are working another angle tonight, he said. It's a complete copy of Marcella's address book. He thought one of the names might mean something to you." She offered him a manila envelope.
"Thank you, Alexx. It's a good idea. I'll look it over tonight."
Her gaze scanned him up and down. "You're making progress, aren't you?"
"Bits and pieces. We've proven the letters are fakes, and we've got a possible lead on who's behind this. This address book might help."
"I've got to get home tonight," Alexx apologized. "My husband is out, so I've got the kids."
"We'll be fine," said Calleigh. "Thanks for everything, Alexx." She hugged her, and Horatio joined them in a three-cornered squeeze.
"Everything will work out," Alexx promised both of them again. And this time, all of them believed it a little more than they had the previous night.
***
Calleigh unlocked their front door as Horatio took the mail out of the box. He sorted it neatly into two stacks after she flipped on the living room light. "What do you want to eat?" she asked, taking her mail from him and heading for the kitchen.
She heard his sharp intake of breath behind her and spun around. He had slit open his first letter as neatly as usual and now was staring at the single sheet of paper inside. Calleigh dropped her own mail in the floor as she dashed back to his side.
It was obviously a copy of an old newspaper story. The headline announced, "Miami woman found beaten to death in home." Below, the story began. "Rosalind Caine, age 38, of Miami was found dead in her home yesterday afternoon by her 17-year-old son, Horatio." Calleigh wrenched the paper loose from his hands without reading more. He didn't need to read more, of course. His mind was already back there in his mother's kitchen. She wrapped both arms protectively around him, squeezing him almost painfully tightly. "Think of her alive, Horatio. You can replace it." His eyes slowly shifted to focus on her, then closed. It took a good ten seconds, but it worked, and he reopened them to meet her worried look.
"Who is this man? What did I ever do to him?"
"We're going to find out." She pulled his head over so she could kiss him. They just stood there a minute, holding each other.
"Where was that envelope mailed from?" he asked suddenly, the CSI in him stirring to life. She checked.
"A main post office downtown. The return address is just the post office, too. And I bet he wore gloves." She crumpled up the envelope like she had already crumpled up the page inside. "In fact, we'll just assume he wore gloves. There's no reason to get them processed."
He looked at her gratefully. He was already feeling violated enough, without everyone in the lab making his personal nightmares evidence. "What would I do without you?" He shuddered again suddenly. "A year ago, I couldn't replace the images. I would have been lost already, Cal." Calleigh shuddered herself, thinking about what this man was trying to do, and she wrapped him in her arms again, desperately trying to hold him to her. He returned her embrace full force, and slowly their heartbeats returned to normal together.
***
They sat on the couch together after eating, poring over the address book for hours. Calleigh was fascinated at this glance at Marcella's life. She seemed to have been as organized as Horatio was. But nowhere in the book was there a psychiatrist's name.
"Maybe it's under his personal name, not as doctor," Calleigh suggested.
"No, she would have listed him as Dr. Whoever. Especially since he wasn't a social friend. The only connection was professional, according to Karen." He shook his head. "I don't know how he got her to talk about it, though. She'd only mentioned me to Karen a few times. I can't imagine her just casually mentioning last week to a psychiatrist." His mind skittered off to last week again, and he wrenched it back. "Then there's Aster's reaction. I don't think he was lying about psychiatrists, but it was different from the rest of the interview. Odd, in a way I can't put my finger on." He leaned back and rubbed his eyes tiredly as the clock on the wall chimed ten. "What a day. We're making progress, but I still can't see the end of it."
"It's got to be the psychiatrist, though." He nodded, sure of it. "Maybe we can get financial records tomorrow. Cancelled checks or something. His name would be there."
"I don't know why it isn't in the book," he persisted. "She should have written it down. She wrote everything down."
"Horatio." She hesitated until his focus was completely on her. "I really think we'd better knock you out again tonight." He immediately rebelled, his body pulling back, and she drove on quickly. "We aren't just fighting memories here. We're up against a person, and he's deliberately trying to use this against you. We can win over the rest of it later, but right now, we need to beat him. We don't need to give him ammunition. The tireder you get, the more susceptible you're going to be. And do you really think you'd just sleep soundly tonight? We've made a lot of progress today. Don't lose ground."
He hesitated, considering it, finally shaking his head. "You're right, I guess. I hate giving up control, though."
She knew it. "Don't think of it as giving up control. Think of it as keeping him from getting control. This is your decision, not his. And not mine. Tonight, it is your decision."
His eyes slowly absorbed her words, traveling through resentment to anger to gratitude. She was truly making it his decision. "Okay."
She gathered the papers and got to her feet, heading for the kitchen, returning a few minutes later with coffee for both of them. They drank it curled up together on the couch. "Tonight, though, let's get on to bed. You nearly spent it on the bedroom floor last night." He laughed, and she hugged him quickly as he got up. "Humor. That's one of our weapons. That and anger. We can use those against him."
"The anger isn't too hard to find," he said, and there were steel bands under his soft voice. "One other thing I've thought of," he said, as they started to get undressed.
"What's that?"
"This isn't just about us. This man is too good for this to be his first crime. If he's a psychiatrist gone bad, he's been using that position regularly to manipulate people. His influence goes way past me, and it needs to be eliminated."
Calleigh hugged him again as they got into bed. Trust Horatio to get even more fired up on a mission when it wasn't just personal. "I can't believe how you think about others all the time."
His expression changed, and when he spoke, she knew he was thinking about Marcella's words. "I don't only open up to people who aren't close to me. Do I?"
"No," she said. "You're opening up to me more all the time. And this week, after that phone call bit, you really have been letting me go through all of it with you. Full partners. That's true marriage, Horatio. And everyone on the team knows how much you care about us. Marcella just didn't know you."
He kissed her deeply. "You're the best thing that ever happened to me, you know it?" She snuggled down against him, returning his kiss gladly. "How long does that stuff take to kick in?"
She laughed. "Not much longer, I'm afraid. I doubt we'd have time to do much." She squeezed him tightly. "But we have lots of other days. This is only temporary, and we have the rest of our lives together."
"The rest of our lives," he agreed. "I love you, Cal."
"I love you, too." She rested her head against his chest, listening to his heartbeat. It seemed to repeat her name over and over. He's mine, she thought fiercely. He knows he's mine. Whoever you are, you can't have him.
She lay there next to him a long time after he was asleep, but her mind refused to shut off, chewing over the case like a dog with a bone. Finally, she slipped out of bed and put her robe on. Horatio was totally out, and he wouldn't miss her presence. She went back into the living room and ran through the address book again. Nothing even resembling a psychiatrist. There was a medical doctor and a dentist, though, each clearly labeled. It really was odd, like Horatio had said. The psychiatrist should have been here. She picked up the phone book finally and flipped to the yellow pages, hoping to match a name, either to her memory or to Marcella's address book. She hadn't realized how many psychiatrists there were in Miami. She browsed down the list one by one, wondering how they all kept in business. Suddenly, her finger froze, and her blood froze a fraction of a second later. That was it. That had to be it. Instantly, she knew who was behind this, and she knew how he was doing it, and she saw no way on earth of proving it. He had discovered the perfect crime.
Seized with fear, she bolted up from the couch, dropping the phone book, and rushed back down the hall. Horatio was still there, quietly sleeping, far beyond the reach of this man at the moment. Calleigh scrambled back into bed, sliding over tightly against him, wanting to reassure herself of his presence. Horatio, she thought, how are we going to beat this one? She switched out the light, but her mind's eye still saw the entry in the yellow pages. Five words that explained everything, the identity and the method.
Mark Harwood, Psychiatry and Hypnotherapy.
Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, "The Adventure of the Speckled Band"
***
Eric snapped his cell phone shut and turned to Speed. "H and Calleigh are going to go talk to Karen."
Speed gave a noncommittal grunt. He was staring at the clear container holding the plastic sheeting as if he could make evidence appear by pure concentration. After all morning at the apartment, he had spent all afternoon trying to develop fingerprints on the plastic sheeting, processing it one tedious square foot at a time. "You find anything else in her address book?"
"Nothing that jumps out. I'm going to make a copy of the whole thing, though, for H to look at. One of the names might mean something to him. He said they'd proved the letters are fake."
"Great." Speed suddenly leaned forward, peering through the sides as the fumes inside surrounded the plastic. "I think I've got one here." Eric came over to watch eagerly. "Yep, beautiful. Three fingers there, probably thumb and first two." Speed opened the container, removed the cut square of plastic, and started the process to record those prints and run them through AFIS.
"Speed," Eric started, then hesitated.
"What's up, man?"
"What do you think is going on?"
Speed gave a martyred sigh. "I thought that's what we've been trying to work out all day."
"No, not with the case. I mean with Horatio. About last week and timing. We're missing a lot of background there."
"No kidding." Speed started the database search. "No point in pushing Calleigh on it, though. If she says she's not talking, she's not talking."
"Yeah, but it bugs me. Something's wrong there. So I came in early this morning and did some research."
"Delko, we promised not to take it any further."
"No, we just promised not to ask him. I'm not going to ask him. No reason I can't look around on my own, though." Speed looked away from the shifting AFIS screen to meet his eyes. "Something's wrong. Maybe we could help with it." CSI was part of Eric's family, and he couldn't just stand by if something was wrong in his family. It wasn't in his nature.
"I don't think Calleigh wants our help. Or H either." They looked at each other for a minute. "So what did you find out this morning?"
"I was checking the vacation records. You know, H has always taken the first week in April off every single year as vacation for the last 15 years? Probably before that, too, but that's as far back as the computerized records went. CSI, Bomb Squad, Homicide. Always the same week."
"15 years?"
"15 years. Up until last year, and last year he was scheduled and had to cancel. You remember that case where the guy's identical twin brother committed the murder while he was establishing the alibi in Daytona Beach? That week. H never was himself that week."
"Yeah, I remember that one. He was out of it that week." Speed stared at Delko. "He said something last night about an anniversary dinner. And it wasn't their wedding anniversary, even if Calleigh said so. But what's it the anniversary of?"
"I took it as far as the computerized records went. No clue."
"Got to be something major, to him anyway, if he takes it every year. Something older than 15 years. Maybe we could go down to the newspaper office. They've got microfilm archives that are pretty organized. Scan the news from the first week of April every year prior to that date."
"We don't know it was news. To anyone but him, anyway."
"It's a starting point." Speed was starting to get into the chase, too. "You're right, man. 15 years. Something's going on there."
"You doing anything tonight? The newspaper will be open, getting the morning edition ready."
"Why not? It's not like I have plans."
"You still haven't heard back from Breeze?"
"Nope. I really liked her, too."
"Too early to give up, Speed. Women can sulk for ages sometimes. One day is nothing."
"Thanks for the encouragement," Speed retorted. AFIS suddenly beeped, and both of them instantly turned professional again. "Brian Aster. Served time for manslaughter, got out two years ago." He studied the records. "No connection to Horatio I can see, though. And he's stayed clean. He's off parole, even."
"Better call Tripp. I'll go make copies of this address book." Eric opened it again, looking at the neat, organized print. A woman's life contacts, all in perfect order. "How do people live like this?" His address book was full of scratched-out entries and interfiled with Post-It notes and bar napkins.
"Beats me." Speed didn't have half the contacts Eric did, but he didn't even have an address book. Numbers he needed were jotted on bits of paper here and there, scattered around his apartment, the most important on the fridge. He pulled out his cell phone to call Tripp, but as the number dialed, his mind was back on Horatio again. First week in April, for 15 years. At least 15 years. There had to be something big there.
***
The door opened, and Karen Simpson looked out, dividing a puzzled glance between Horatio and Calleigh. "Can I help you?"
"Ms. Simpson?" She nodded. "I'm Horatio Caine, and this is my wife, Calleigh. We're with the Miami-Dade PD." Both suspended from it, but he didn't mention that part.
"Horatio Caine," she repeated thoughtfully. The name obviously rang a bell, but it was a distant, muted bell.
"I'm Marcella's ex-husband."
"Oh, right, of course. Sorry. She only mentioned your name once or twice." She looked at him with interest, mentally pairing him with Marcella.
"Could we talk to you for a few minutes?" asked Calleigh.
"I've got to be at work at 5:00. You can have half an hour. I work second shift." She backed away from the door and let them in. "Is this about the murder investigation?"
"Yes," said Horatio. True enough. She obviously didn't know that he was the prime suspect. He felt a sudden wave of gratitude toward the captain. He had acted on the initial evidence, as he was required to do, but he had kept Horatio's name out of the papers for the moment.
"We got your name from her address book," said Calleigh, as they sat down around her living room. "How long had you been friends?"
"Four years. I was probably her best friend. We didn't get to see each other that often, because she worked days and I worked evenings. We'd meet for coffee once a week on my lunch break, though. 10:00 p.m. Just to talk for a few minutes, keep in touch."
"Where did you meet?" asked Horatio.
"At the truck stop where I work."
"When did you see her last?"
"Thursday night, let's see. It was March 30. And I should've met her the 6th, but she didn't show. I called and left her a message, but it wasn't written in stone. I just thought something had come up." She broke off suddenly, realizing exactly what had come up.
"You didn't contact her at any point in the week between those dates?"
"No. Like I said, we both had busy lives. It wasn't like we talked every day."
Horatio leaned forward slightly. "Ms. Simpson, was Marcella seeing anyone?"
"A man, you mean? No. She didn't hate them, but she had no use for them. Totally career minded. The few times I heard her mention you, it wasn't complimentary."
"I'm sure of that," he said, smiling at her.
"What did she say about him?" Calleigh couldn't resist asking. Horatio frowned at her slightly, and she met his eyes steadily.
"The last time was last summer. You were on TV. A bridge fell or something." She looked from one to the other to see if they were following her, and they both nodded. "I made some comment about how you couldn't be that bad, if you did what you did then. She said. . . " She broke off suddenly.
"Go ahead," urged Calleigh.
"She said you were only open and caring with strangers, not with people you knew."
Horatio actually flinched, and Calleigh made another note on her list of things to discuss with Marcella in the hereafter. "She was wrong," she said fiercely.
Karen looked sheepish. "Her comment, not mine. Sorry."
"We did ask for it." Horatio gave her a reassuring smile. "You're sure she hadn't met a man in the last year or so?"
"Positive. I can't imagine her in a relationship. She was married to her job."
"What was her job?" asked Horatio. She looked at him, surprised. "No, I don't know. We didn't keep in touch. She told me she didn't want to."
"She taught at the University. History."
"She always liked history," Horatio said, remembering her alive for once.
"And she wasn't missed there for a week?" asked Calleigh.
"It was spring break." Karen was looking guilty again, thinking that maybe she should have missed Marcella herself sooner.
Horatio spoke quickly, to distract her. "Did she have any good friends she'd made in the past year? Not a romantic relationship? Anyone she mentioned at all?" He was more sure than ever that she wouldn't have mentioned personal details about him to a casual acquaintance. Karen obviously knew nothing of it, and she had been Marcella's best friend.
Karen took time to think about it. "She really didn't have many friends. No one she was in close contact with except me. In fact, she'd been a little depressed the last few years. Mid life crisis kind of thing. She'd been seeing a psychiatrist."
Horatio actually jumped, and Karen eyed him warily. His eyes met Calleigh's with the fire and intensity they always had on a case when he suddenly saw the answer, and she followed his mental leap. A psychiatrist. A psychiatrist who was also a criminal. That fit so well that it sent shivers down her spine. Who better to know how to manipulate people? For the first time, she thought of Marcella as a victim in this, too. "What was his name?" Horatio asked eagerly. Karen was still staring at him, taken aback at the sudden change. Horatio pulled himself together and damped the fire a bit. "Did she ever mention his name?"
"No," said Karen.
"And she'd been seeing him how long?" asked Calleigh.
"A year, maybe." She glanced at her watch. "I've got to get ready for work now."
Horatio and Calleigh both stood up. "Thank you for your help, Ms. Simpson," said Horatio sincerely.
"I hope you catch this man," she said. "Do you think it was someone she knew?"
"We can't reveal details of the investigation, I'm afraid," said Horatio. "But we will catch him." It was a fierce vow, and Karen, looking at him, couldn't imagine how Marcella had said that this man didn't care.
***
"A psychiatrist," said Calleigh, back in the car. "Boy, that would fit things. So how many psychiatrists do you know who have grudges against you?"
Horatio's face fell. "None."
"None? Come on, there's got to be a connection."
"I'm sure of it, but I don't know what it is." He stared into space. "Maybe we'll find it in her address book. Canceled checks from her bank. Somewhere, she'll have his name written down. She was very organized. You know, that fits with the whole feel of this case, though. The technical parts, like my signature on the letters, are pretty good on the surface, but there are errors. That part's incomplete. It's the manipulation that's professional." He shuddered again, and Calleigh reached out and squeezed his arm.
"We're making progress, Horatio. We know what kind of person we're after now. Maybe Speed can run a cross reference with your cases and psychiatrists."
"Maybe." His cell phone rang, and he snapped it open. "Horatio."
"Tripp." The name was unnecessary. That gruff voice could only go with one person. "What did the graphologist say?"
"They're fakes, and he's willing to tell you so."
Tripp gave a faint sigh of relief. "I need you back down at Headquarters."
"Why?"
"Speedle found prints on the plastic. Ex-con named Brian Aster. Name mean anything to you?"
Horatio ran a brief mental search. "Nothing."
"I pulled him in for questioning, and he swears he doesn't know anything. But the prints are there. Something doesn't smell right on this one, though. I really think he might be telling the truth. I'd like to let him bump into you accidentally, see if I can jolt him."
"A reverse line up," said Horatio.
"Right."
"Okay, we'll head that way. We just talked to Karen. I'll tell you later." He snapped the phone shut and turned to Calleigh. "Speed found fingerprints on the plastic, and Tripp pulled the owner in. Man named Brian Aster. The name doesn't mean anything to me. Tripp wants to see if he recognizes me."
"Is he a psychiatrist?" Calleigh wondered.
"Let's go ask him, shall we?" Horatio put the car in gear and pulled out smoothly into the late afternoon traffic.
***
Horatio and Calleigh stood on the other side of the one way glass, looking at Brian Aster. He seemed nervous in the way that ex-cons trying to go straight are. Horatio had never seen him before. "And somehow I don't think he's a psychiatrist," he said, watching Aster nervously fumble with an unlit cigarette under Tripp's disapproving eye. "Let's see if he knows me." He opened the door and marched in, oozing confidence. "Tripp, I need to talk to you about something."
Tripp glared at him with fake disapproval, but his focus was actually sideways, on Aster. "In a minute, Horatio. Let me finish up here." Aster was looking from one to the other of them curiously, but there wasn't even a flicker of recognition. Tripp was watching his eyes, and Horatio was watching his hands. Nothing. "Okay, so all you can tell me is you don't know how your fingerprints got there."
The cigarette snapped between his fingers. "I know it sounds lame, but it's true. I don't know how it happened. And I didn't kill the woman. I've done my time, learned my lesson." Horatio, studying him carefully, believed him. He wasn't concealing something, just nervous from past experiences with the police. But in that case, how did his fingerprints get there? Maybe Horatio wasn't the only one being set up.
"Mr. Aster," he said silkily, cutting right over the start of Tripp's next question, "have you ever seen a psychiatrist?"
The head came up instantly in a wave of decisiveness. "A shrink? Hell, no. Wouldn't go to one if you paid me." For that instant, the hands stopped fidgeting. The reaction had been automatic, not calculated, but definitely the strongest one he'd shown. Horatio tightened up himself, and Calleigh, watching him, was reminded of a bird dog on point.
"Thank you, Mr. Aster," he said. "I think that will be all for the moment, won't it, Tripp?"
Tripp was staring at Horatio. "For the moment," he agreed finally, "but you are not to leave the city. Thank you." Aster looked from one to the other of them, wondering who in fact was in charge here, then quickly scrambled up before Tripp changed his mind.
Tripp turned to Horatio as the door closed. "Has he ever seen a psychiatrist?"
"Marcella was seeing a psychiatrist for the past year at least. Professionally, not personally. I think he's the one behind this."
Tripp pulled out his notebook. "What's his name?"
"I don't know," said Horatio.
"Office address? Telephone number? Any identifying information at all?"
"I'm still working on that part," said Horatio.
"What's his motive?"
"I'm still working on that part, too."
Tripp eyed him steadily. "When you find him, make yourself an appointment. Now, have you ever seen Aster?"
"No. And he didn't know me. I think he's being set up, too."
"Why would someone set him up? Wait, don't tell me, you're still working on that part." Tripp sighed. "What about the graphologist and Karen?" Horatio gave him a report from the two appointments and handed over the graphologist's card. Tripp pocketed it, and the three of them started out of the interrogation room together. "So you think Aster's telling the truth?"
"Yes. His answer about the psychiatrist was interesting, though. I don't think he was lying. He answered too quickly to think about it first. But the whole tone changed there."
"Forget the tone and explain the fingerprints. I'm going to have his place searched for the gun," said Tripp.
"Detective Tripp!" The three of them turned to see the captain, along with Adele Sevilla, heading down the hall toward them. "How is your investigation coming?"
"We're making some progress," said Tripp. "CSI matched a fingerprint, and I just talked to one suspect."
"Keep me informed," said the captain. He didn't say anything to Horatio, but his eyes spoke for him. Duty warring with regret. "I'll be glad to get this cleared up."
"So will I," said Horatio. Adele bumped him lightly on the shoulder. The captain turned toward Calleigh.
"I understand that you assaulted Lieutenant Wilson this morning."
"Yes, sir, in front of witnesses. And threatened to do it again. What's my punishment?" She met his eyes unflinchingly.
"You assaulted Wilson?" Even Tripp sounded impressed.
The captain's shoulders quivered slightly, and he looked at the floor for a moment, regathering his control. "I'll take a few days to decide that. Meanwhile, I am backing him up on your suspension."
"Thank you, sir," said Calleigh. The captain abruptly turned and walked off. His shoulders were still quivering. Adele shot Calleigh a wide grin as she followed him.
"We'd better get out of here, Cal. We are suspended, after all," said Horatio.
"Right. Good night, Tripp."
"Night," he said gruffly. He watched as they walked away, then turned, his face a stoic mask, the control perfect. Frank Tripp walked back into the interrogation room, closed the door, and leaned against it, safely out of view from the window. Then he laughed until he could hardly stand. Finally, under perfect control again, he exited the room and headed back for his desk.
***
"Horatio! Calleigh!" Alexx's voice caught them as they were getting into the car. They both turned to face her as she jogged briskly up. "Eric wanted me to bring you this. He and Speed are working another angle tonight, he said. It's a complete copy of Marcella's address book. He thought one of the names might mean something to you." She offered him a manila envelope.
"Thank you, Alexx. It's a good idea. I'll look it over tonight."
Her gaze scanned him up and down. "You're making progress, aren't you?"
"Bits and pieces. We've proven the letters are fakes, and we've got a possible lead on who's behind this. This address book might help."
"I've got to get home tonight," Alexx apologized. "My husband is out, so I've got the kids."
"We'll be fine," said Calleigh. "Thanks for everything, Alexx." She hugged her, and Horatio joined them in a three-cornered squeeze.
"Everything will work out," Alexx promised both of them again. And this time, all of them believed it a little more than they had the previous night.
***
Calleigh unlocked their front door as Horatio took the mail out of the box. He sorted it neatly into two stacks after she flipped on the living room light. "What do you want to eat?" she asked, taking her mail from him and heading for the kitchen.
She heard his sharp intake of breath behind her and spun around. He had slit open his first letter as neatly as usual and now was staring at the single sheet of paper inside. Calleigh dropped her own mail in the floor as she dashed back to his side.
It was obviously a copy of an old newspaper story. The headline announced, "Miami woman found beaten to death in home." Below, the story began. "Rosalind Caine, age 38, of Miami was found dead in her home yesterday afternoon by her 17-year-old son, Horatio." Calleigh wrenched the paper loose from his hands without reading more. He didn't need to read more, of course. His mind was already back there in his mother's kitchen. She wrapped both arms protectively around him, squeezing him almost painfully tightly. "Think of her alive, Horatio. You can replace it." His eyes slowly shifted to focus on her, then closed. It took a good ten seconds, but it worked, and he reopened them to meet her worried look.
"Who is this man? What did I ever do to him?"
"We're going to find out." She pulled his head over so she could kiss him. They just stood there a minute, holding each other.
"Where was that envelope mailed from?" he asked suddenly, the CSI in him stirring to life. She checked.
"A main post office downtown. The return address is just the post office, too. And I bet he wore gloves." She crumpled up the envelope like she had already crumpled up the page inside. "In fact, we'll just assume he wore gloves. There's no reason to get them processed."
He looked at her gratefully. He was already feeling violated enough, without everyone in the lab making his personal nightmares evidence. "What would I do without you?" He shuddered again suddenly. "A year ago, I couldn't replace the images. I would have been lost already, Cal." Calleigh shuddered herself, thinking about what this man was trying to do, and she wrapped him in her arms again, desperately trying to hold him to her. He returned her embrace full force, and slowly their heartbeats returned to normal together.
***
They sat on the couch together after eating, poring over the address book for hours. Calleigh was fascinated at this glance at Marcella's life. She seemed to have been as organized as Horatio was. But nowhere in the book was there a psychiatrist's name.
"Maybe it's under his personal name, not as doctor," Calleigh suggested.
"No, she would have listed him as Dr. Whoever. Especially since he wasn't a social friend. The only connection was professional, according to Karen." He shook his head. "I don't know how he got her to talk about it, though. She'd only mentioned me to Karen a few times. I can't imagine her just casually mentioning last week to a psychiatrist." His mind skittered off to last week again, and he wrenched it back. "Then there's Aster's reaction. I don't think he was lying about psychiatrists, but it was different from the rest of the interview. Odd, in a way I can't put my finger on." He leaned back and rubbed his eyes tiredly as the clock on the wall chimed ten. "What a day. We're making progress, but I still can't see the end of it."
"It's got to be the psychiatrist, though." He nodded, sure of it. "Maybe we can get financial records tomorrow. Cancelled checks or something. His name would be there."
"I don't know why it isn't in the book," he persisted. "She should have written it down. She wrote everything down."
"Horatio." She hesitated until his focus was completely on her. "I really think we'd better knock you out again tonight." He immediately rebelled, his body pulling back, and she drove on quickly. "We aren't just fighting memories here. We're up against a person, and he's deliberately trying to use this against you. We can win over the rest of it later, but right now, we need to beat him. We don't need to give him ammunition. The tireder you get, the more susceptible you're going to be. And do you really think you'd just sleep soundly tonight? We've made a lot of progress today. Don't lose ground."
He hesitated, considering it, finally shaking his head. "You're right, I guess. I hate giving up control, though."
She knew it. "Don't think of it as giving up control. Think of it as keeping him from getting control. This is your decision, not his. And not mine. Tonight, it is your decision."
His eyes slowly absorbed her words, traveling through resentment to anger to gratitude. She was truly making it his decision. "Okay."
She gathered the papers and got to her feet, heading for the kitchen, returning a few minutes later with coffee for both of them. They drank it curled up together on the couch. "Tonight, though, let's get on to bed. You nearly spent it on the bedroom floor last night." He laughed, and she hugged him quickly as he got up. "Humor. That's one of our weapons. That and anger. We can use those against him."
"The anger isn't too hard to find," he said, and there were steel bands under his soft voice. "One other thing I've thought of," he said, as they started to get undressed.
"What's that?"
"This isn't just about us. This man is too good for this to be his first crime. If he's a psychiatrist gone bad, he's been using that position regularly to manipulate people. His influence goes way past me, and it needs to be eliminated."
Calleigh hugged him again as they got into bed. Trust Horatio to get even more fired up on a mission when it wasn't just personal. "I can't believe how you think about others all the time."
His expression changed, and when he spoke, she knew he was thinking about Marcella's words. "I don't only open up to people who aren't close to me. Do I?"
"No," she said. "You're opening up to me more all the time. And this week, after that phone call bit, you really have been letting me go through all of it with you. Full partners. That's true marriage, Horatio. And everyone on the team knows how much you care about us. Marcella just didn't know you."
He kissed her deeply. "You're the best thing that ever happened to me, you know it?" She snuggled down against him, returning his kiss gladly. "How long does that stuff take to kick in?"
She laughed. "Not much longer, I'm afraid. I doubt we'd have time to do much." She squeezed him tightly. "But we have lots of other days. This is only temporary, and we have the rest of our lives together."
"The rest of our lives," he agreed. "I love you, Cal."
"I love you, too." She rested her head against his chest, listening to his heartbeat. It seemed to repeat her name over and over. He's mine, she thought fiercely. He knows he's mine. Whoever you are, you can't have him.
She lay there next to him a long time after he was asleep, but her mind refused to shut off, chewing over the case like a dog with a bone. Finally, she slipped out of bed and put her robe on. Horatio was totally out, and he wouldn't miss her presence. She went back into the living room and ran through the address book again. Nothing even resembling a psychiatrist. There was a medical doctor and a dentist, though, each clearly labeled. It really was odd, like Horatio had said. The psychiatrist should have been here. She picked up the phone book finally and flipped to the yellow pages, hoping to match a name, either to her memory or to Marcella's address book. She hadn't realized how many psychiatrists there were in Miami. She browsed down the list one by one, wondering how they all kept in business. Suddenly, her finger froze, and her blood froze a fraction of a second later. That was it. That had to be it. Instantly, she knew who was behind this, and she knew how he was doing it, and she saw no way on earth of proving it. He had discovered the perfect crime.
Seized with fear, she bolted up from the couch, dropping the phone book, and rushed back down the hall. Horatio was still there, quietly sleeping, far beyond the reach of this man at the moment. Calleigh scrambled back into bed, sliding over tightly against him, wanting to reassure herself of his presence. Horatio, she thought, how are we going to beat this one? She switched out the light, but her mind's eye still saw the entry in the yellow pages. Five words that explained everything, the identity and the method.
Mark Harwood, Psychiatry and Hypnotherapy.