"We are not interested in the possibilities of defeat."
Queen Victoria
***
Alexx was, for once, shocked into speechlessness. She gaped at the file Speed and Eric had placed in front of her, at the pictures. Alexx spent every day investigating violent death, but the pure senseless rage, the brutality of this went straight to her heart. Her medical eye wrenched itself from what used to be a face to see the clenched hands, the blood on the fingernails that was not the victim's own. "Oh baby, you fought for it, didn't you?" she murmured, overwhelmed with sympathy for a woman who had died almost 30 years ago. She looked back up at her coworkers, both standing there uncertainly.
"So what do we do?" asked Speed. He and Eric were totally over their heads in this one, and they had realized it the minute they read Rosalind's case file.
Alexx was uncertain herself for once. "I knew his mother had been killed, and he had found her, but I never imagined . . ." She looked back down at the crime scene photos. "He takes that same week off every year? The whole week?"
"Yeah," said Eric. "Every single year since then. I think he relives it or something. The investigation took four days. I think he relives the whole thing."
"29 years, and no one ever noticed," said Alexx softly.
"He's so good at hiding," said Speed. "He didn't want us to know."
"But what do we do?" Eric persisted. "Can we help him or something?"
Alexx was starting to think it through. "You remember, when he came back Monday, you asked how vacation was, and he said it was better than he had hoped for."
"Yeah, that's right," said Speed. Monday seemed like an eternity ago.
"If we'd found this out before this year, I'd say we needed to push him on it. Support him whether he wanted us to or not. But he's got Calleigh now. She knows, and she isn't going to be content with just knowing. I think she's working on him already. They took last week together. She's helping him with it."
Eric stared at her. "Are you saying we should just do nothing?"
Alexx sighed. "Believe me, I'd rather speak up, too." In fact, she'd like to shake him, try to knock some sense into that stubborn head of his. 28 years before this one, and he'd spent them alone. "But he's not alone anymore. And Calleigh's more effective than we would be. I don't think it would gain anything, and he would be uncomfortable with us knowing."
"But we're his friends," Speed protested.
"He knows that. He does know it. But there's a better answer in Calleigh, and she's already got her foot in the door. Sometimes, you have to show friendship by not saying or doing something, instead of by doing it." She looked at them sympathetically. "It'll be hard for me, too. But Calleigh called this one the other night, and I really do think she's right. We shouldn't push him on this. Leave her a clear field to work." They reluctantly nodded. "It can't hurt for us to try to take any more cases with faceless bodies so he won't have to, though. It's a wonder he didn't have a heart attack on the spot seeing Marcella. Especially if he'd just spent last week reliving his mother's case."
"But why do you suppose they celebrated it last week?" Speed wondered. "H said that himself. They had dinner catered and all. And what was that about timing?"
Alexx shook her head. "His ex-wife must have known, so someone who'd talked to her could assume that he would be on vacation. But we still don't know everything here, and we aren't going to."
"And we're just supposed to accept that?" said Eric. It violated his CSI principles as well as his larger friendship ones.
"Sorry," said Alexx. "You did ask for my advice."
"What is going on here?" Wilson's voice echoed off the walls of the morgue. "Don't you have enough to do? Get to work."
Speed quickly gathered Rosalind's case file before Wilson could see it. "Yes, sir, right away, sir." He scurried off, leaving Wilson feeling insulted and wondering why. Eric followed more slowly.
Wilson turned to face Alexx. "What is going on here?"
"They just wanted to ask my advice on something. Technically, we were all early, anyway, so it didn't come off the clock."
"Something about Caine, I bet," Wilson guessed. She didn't deny it. "What is it about that guy, anyway? He's been gone two days, but everybody acts like he's still here. What's so special about him?"
Alexx met his eyes squarely. "He cares," she said simply. Wilson hesitated on the brink of another question, decided that it would sound unprofessional, and left. He would never admit it, but he was actually starting to envy Horatio. For all that he had read about management techniques and career advancement, loyalty couldn't be gained by reading the right books.
***
Horatio parked in the lot next to the professional office building. He eyed a car three slots down, an understatedly expensive looking sedan with a customized plate reading HD DCTR. "Oh, do I want to process that car. 99% chance it transported the body to that field."
Calleigh laughed. "We have to get enough for a warrant, first. Once we do, we've got him cold. Like you said, he does make mistakes on the evidence."
"Right." Horatio unfastened his seatbelt and turned to face her, laying out the battle plan to the troops, even though she was the only troop present. He looked better than he had all week, Calleigh thought, intense, prepared. At last, he knew who he was after and had a plan. "Now then, once we get in there, let me deal with him. I've got two good keys on him, and I think I can break him. Your job is to watch me. Don't let him get to me. I'm counting on you."
"Got it," she said, although she still had her doubts about this. They had spent the past hour looking for alternatives and finding none. All the evidence Tripp had now would lead to Aster, not Harwood, and they had to get something more to get a warrant for his office. They each had a miniature tape recorder in their pockets, for two copies of the coming interview. One more step they had taken was to write down their suspicions about the motive (leaving out a few unnecessary details on the method) and leave that note planted in their house, not obviously but where Eric and Speed would find it as soon as they started looking. If anything went wrong at this meeting and they disappeared, CSI and Tripp would have enough for a search warrant on Harwood. "What are your two keys?" she wondered. He had been quiet the whole drive over, but she could almost see the wheels turning, he had been thinking so fiercely.
"Inefficiency and loss of control," said Horatio. "I think either one would rattle him. I'll try both."
"Good idea. They would have bothered Chris Harwood." She was perfectly content to leave this mental wrestling match to Horatio. He could think much faster than she could. She would be keeping a wary eye on him, though, keeping him anchored in the present. His trust warmed her to her toes. Full and equal partners. That was marriage. "Horatio, if anything happens. . . "
He silenced her with a look, shaking his head. "We aren't going to be defeated, Calleigh. We're stronger than he is. We have truth, and we have each other. It's no contest."
She leaned across and kissed him deeply. "I love you, Horatio."
"I love you, too." He returned her kiss with more, then broke away and got out of the car, calm, competent, in command. "Let's go break this guy."
***
"Mr. Harwood, Lieutenant Horatio Caine from the Miami-Dade Police would like a few words with you, when it's convenient." The secretary listened for a moment, then hung up. "Actually, he's free right now. We had a cancellation this morning. Go right on in."
Horatio entered the office with an air of confidence as if it were his own. Paneled walls, leather chairs, and the proverbial couch over against one wall. Mark Harwood was just standing up behind his desk. He looked like an older version of Chris Harwood, more professional, with a thicker veneer, but the eyes were empty, yet calculating at the same time. Calleigh abruptly remembered the graphologist's description of Hitler, a man with a shrunken soul. Here was another one. She shivered slightly, then caught herself. Harwood hadn't seen it, though. His attention was locked on Horatio, as Horatio had predicted. Was there a faint flicker of puzzlement there as he studied him? Horatio hadn't even given the secretary Calleigh's name. She would be much more efficient in her role here if Harwood dismissed her as a nonentity.
They sat in the two chairs side by side in front of the desk, and Harwood took his place behind it. "Lieutenant Caine, what can I do for you?"
Horatio leaned back slightly in his chair. He was playing it to the hilt, smooth, polished, and confident. "We have a few questions we'd like to ask about one of your patients. It relates to a murder investigation. Actually, the victim was my ex-wife, Marcella. When did she start seeing you for counseling?"
"About a year and a half ago," Harwood started, then pulled himself up slightly. It was an old interrogation trick, to begin a question with when did you instead of did you. Amazing how often that works, thought Calleigh. "I'm afraid I can't share exact details of our sessions, though. That's privileged information. I can say that she had a lovely personality to match her beautiful face."
Horatio flinched slightly but didn't falter. When they had sat down, he had put his left hand across, resting it on Calleigh's right leg, and she was gripping it with both of her own, shielded by the desk. She tightened up the pressure, stroking it softly, holding him in the present. With that subtle but calculated shot, though, she instantly mentally convicted Harwood. He had done everything they suspected and more.
"Yes, she was a beautiful person," Horatio agreed. "Could you tell us, without violating client privilege, when you saw her last? When you saw her last alive, that is? We're trying to create a timetable."
Harwood weighed that question, considering his next move in this verbal chess match as he reassessed his opponent. From everything Marcella had said, this man should have had no sleep for three nights now and been haunted by images he couldn't get rid of. In fact, he should have been arrested himself, too. Yet here he was sitting across the desk, conducting the investigation. Harwood was scrambling slightly, and he wasn't used to it. "I saw her on March 30th. A Thursday. And she had an appointment this last Thursday, but she didn't show up."
"We believe she was murdered last Tuesday, the 4th. Actually, we have quite a bit to go on in this investigation. The murderer was a bit sloppy in several areas. He made quite a few mistakes."
That shot went home. Harwood became almost visibly a bit more ruffled. "Such as? What were his mistakes?"
"He really has no concept of the finer points of material evidence," said Horatio. "The Crime Lab has already sifted through several false leads, and we are closing in on the real evidence now. He made a very amateur attempt at framing someone through a planted letter, for instance."
Harwood tried to slow down his heart rate. It wasn't fear that was kicking it up but this man sitting there calmly when he should be mentally shattered by now. Horatio gave him an icy smile and waited politely for his opponent's next move. "How can you tell that letters are forged?" he asked. "Did the signatures on them turn out to be fakes? Surely you can compare them to the person's signature."
"What makes you think there were signatures?" asked Horatio. "I'm referring to a letter found on the body, typewritten, without an actual handwritten signature. It was allegedly from a friend of Marcella's named Karen, but she denies it. Were you referring to some other letters, perhaps? There weren't any other letters found on the body."
Harwood was starting to get confused, now. Was this man trying to trap him, or was it actually possible that they hadn't found the other letters? Was that why he wasn't arrested yet? "Karen. Yes, she mentioned a Karen. She also mentioned you once or twice."
"I'm sure she did," said Horatio silkily. "I notice that you specialize in hypnotherapy. Did you ever have occasion to hypnotize Marcella?"
"No," said Harwood. "It isn't something I use for all patients."
"How do you use it? Just out of curiosity."
"People who want to stop smoking, for instance, or to break a habit."
"You can also implant ideas in people's minds, can't you?" asked Horatio. "Such as to combat depression, for instance."
"Yes, it's really a fascinating field."
"I'm sure the possibilities are endless." Horatio's eyes locked with Harwood's, and Harwood, still trying to work out how much this man knew, not to mention how he was still functional, launched a counterattack.
"I hope you find whoever did this. To utterly destroy a face like that is beyond just killing. Who could obliterate beauty like that? A man who could do that would kill his own mother."
That hit Horatio harder than anything yet, and his mind jumped, vaulting clear over Marcella to arrive instantly at Rosalind. Calleigh gripped his hand even harder, but he was slipping away from her, and he didn't return the pressure this time. She dug in all her fingernails on his hand, biting into the flesh deeply, literally drawing blood, and she finally felt him move, squeezing her back. Harwood had seen that remark score a hit, though. No one could have missed it. This man must be made of iron to resist his plots so well, but they weren't without effect. Horatio stared down at his hand for a moment, locked between Calleigh's two, then looked back up at Harwood, lasers coming to bear on cold steel.
"How did you know her face was destroyed, Mr. Harwood? Marcella died by gunshot to the heart. Nothing about her face was reported in the papers."
Harwood grasped for some explanation. "I must have heard it from somewhere."
"Where would you have heard it? You don't have any connection to this investigation. Yet, anyway. You forgot how much information is public knowledge, didn't you? Quite inefficient of you."
It was Harwood's turn to be jolted. Denial and anger rocked through him. Horatio was right, thought Calleigh, being accused of inefficiency was worse to this man than being accused of murder. Horatio saw his victory but also saw something else in Harwood's eyes. One thing he had gambled on was that Harwood wouldn't try anything extreme in his office in the middle of the morning, but he suddenly wasn't sure anymore. He slipped his right hand into his pocket unobtrusively and flipped open the cell phone without taking it out. Moving by feel, he dialed Tripp's number, then pushed his finger across the earpiece to avoid letting any sound escape. Right hand in his pocket, left hand locked in Calleigh's, he leaned forward a bit and followed his advantage, holding Harwood with his eyes.
"You know, one point about hypnotizing people. They can always be rehypnotized by someone else. We can also interrogate people under the influence of drugs. Sodium pentathol. The person being questioned has no defenses, no control." There were major legal issues involved there, but Horatio was gambling that Harwood wouldn't know that.
Fear gripped Harwood, and he actually broke out in a sweat. Being accused of inefficiency made him mad, but the thought of being interrogated under drugs, of having no control over his mind, terrified him. He quietly slipped his desk drawer over and pulled out a shiny revolver with a silencer on the end. "This game has gone far enough, Mr. Caine."
"You keep a revolver in your desk," said Horatio, for Tripp's benefit. "How trite. Couldn't you be more original than that?"
"Sorry, it's only a back up when other plans fail. I prefer to use other weapons."
"I've noticed," said Horatio. "Any weapon can miss the target, though."
Harwood stared at him. Calleigh might as well not have existed. "How are you doing this? There was nothing wrong with the plan."
"There was a lot wrong with the plan," Horatio corrected him. "Beginning with immorality. The letters are fakes. We're onto Aster, but do you really think he's going to hold up under questioning? Especially when he is rehypnotized. And when they get down to questioning you, if they do have to use drugs, it should be interesting. Marcella wasn't the first." The idea of being questioned under drugs made Harwood flinch again. "There will also be evidence in your car, trace evidence from transporting the body." He hoped Tripp was moving while listening to all this.
"But the plastic . . ." Harwood started, then broke off.
Horatio gave him an icy smile. "You underestimate us, Mr. Harwood. There will also be records. I'm sure you keep records of your professional extracurricular activities somewhere."
Harwood didn't deny the records, but like his brother, he abruptly felt an urge to explain why. "You don't understand what power is."
"Wrong," said Horatio. "You don't understand what power is, because real power is based on truth. And the truth is that people are valuable of themselves. Your brother never realized that either." Calleigh shifted slightly, and he stroked her hand with his thumb. Her eyes flickered up to meet his. It's okay, he reassured her silently, and she settled back, believing him. He suddenly thought of Rosalind alive and tracked that thought out, letting Harwood see it. "My mother once told me that manipulation of people is a special kind of evil. But it is still evil, Mr. Harwood. She was a very perceptive person, my mother. And beautiful." Harwood was gaping at him. Marcella had sworn under hypnosis that he couldn't remember what his mother looked like. "And don't you think you'll get some attention by committing murder in an office building at 10:00 AM? Even with the silencer, our bodies are bound to get in the way. Maybe you should tell your secretary to cancel further appointments today."
"I'd rather hypnotize you, but you can't do it against someone's will." Harwood shook his head. "I can deal with it, though. Maybe even frame one of the other patients for the murder."
"Like you framed Aster. That won't hold up, you know."
Harwood was honestly curious. "What's wrong with it?"
"I'm sure they'll find the murder weapon in his house, but they won't find trace evidence in his car. And he's weak. When they question him under hypnosis, he'll give you away instantly."
"How will they know to question him under hypnosis? You're not going to be telling anyone."
"I already have," said Horatio. "If anything happens to us, you're signing your own death warrant. I left everything written down."
"Right," said Harwood. "They all say that." He hesitated again. He wasn't unwilling to commit murder, but he did want all of his questions answered. "Why aren't you under arrest?"
"The letters are forgeries, like I said."
"It's your signature. Take it to any expert."
"I already have. Did you know experts can tell tracings from actual written signatures? But I wouldn't have been arrested anyway. I had a cast iron alibi for the whole week."
Harwood actually jumped. "What? She told me you would be alone that week. It was under hypnosis; she had to be telling the truth. She said you would always be alone."
Horatio looked at him levelly. "She was wrong," he said, and his hand tightened around Calleigh's.
"Freeze!" Tripp and reinforcements came barreling through the door, guns raised. Harwood wasn't suicidal. He slowly placed the gun on the desk and fell back on more routine methods of defense.
"I want a lawyer."
"You'll need one," said Horatio.
"You're under arrest for murder," said Tripp. "Stand up and come around the desk slowly." Harwood complied, and as one of the other officers snapped the cuffs into place, Tripp turned to Horatio.
"What took you so long?" asked Horatio curiously.
"Had to trace the cell phone call. It takes a minute. Just what the hell did you think you were doing here?"
"Taking your advice," said Horatio. Tripp gave him a puzzled glare. "You told me, when I found him, I should make myself an appointment."
***
Horatio and Calleigh sat side by side in one of the witness rooms at headquarters. They had just finished making statements and had also turned over the two tape recordings of the conversation. "Just a few minutes, while we get these typed up," said the sergeant, "and we'll be back for you to sign them."
"Could you get me a first aid kit?" asked Calleigh. Horatio's hand had stopped bleeding, but it was scratched deeply in several places. The sergeant came back with one, then left again, and she gently started wiping the blood away, cleansing the cuts. "Sorry," she said needlessly.
"I was glad you did it," said Horatio. "It pulled me back." He shivered slightly. "A man with a shrunken soul," he said, echoing Calleigh's earlier thought. "How many do you suppose are out there?"
"Not as many as there are honest people. Truth is more powerful, remember?" She finished bandaging his hand and picked it up, kissing it gently. He smiled at her.
"Quite a week. Calleigh, I promise you, one day we're going to settle down and lead a normal life."
"Why would we want to do that?" she retorted. "Look at it this way, Horatio, we're never bored."
"True," he said. A knock sounded on the door, and the captain entered.
"Horatio, I just heard about Mark Harwood." He noticed the bandaged hand. "Did you hurt yourself taking him down?"
"Just scratched it on something." Horatio stood up to face his superior. "So am I reinstated?"
The captain surveyed him. No cracks were visible, but they had to be there. Being framed for your ex-wife's murder was enough to stress anyone. "Not so fast."
"What?" Calleigh stood up alongside Horatio. "It was a set up. The whole thing was a set up."
"His offense was," the captain reminded her. He pulled a key ring out of his pocket and removed a key from it. "You are both still on suspension until next Monday. I have a cabin up in the Smokey Mountains, and for the next three days, you are confined to that cabin or to its near vicinity." He handed over the key. "And I hope you'll use the time to think over your sins," he said, eyeing Calleigh.
"Yes, sir," she said. "I promise, I will never assault my supervisor again." She put one hand on Horatio's arm.
The captain extended his hand, and Horatio took it. "I am sorry about this week, Horatio, but you understand, I had to take action."
"I understand perfectly, sir," he said. "No offense taken."
"Now," said the captain, "as soon as those statements get signed, you are to report to that cabin without delay. And I don't want to see you back until Monday. Understood?"
"Yes, sir," said Horatio and Calleigh together.
***
The entire first shift at CSI was waiting in the hall when Horatio and Calleigh entered Monday morning. They broke into spontaneous applause, and Horatio, touched, hid it under a front of gruffness. "Come on, people, stop hanging around and get to work." Wilson watched, amazed, as the team instantly and willingly responded. The words were nearly the same as his, but the reaction was as different as night and day. He walked across to Horatio himself.
"Lieutenant Caine, welcome back. I hope you'll find things not too far behind. I'm transferring back to my old town. Miami is just too big of a city for me, I think."
"It grows on you, though," said Horatio. "Best of luck, Lieutenant." They shook hands, and Wilson, with a nervous glance at Calleigh, entered the elevator. Horatio grinned at her as the elevator doors closed. "Wish I'd seen you smack him."
"You can," said Speed, behind them. "The security camera got the whole thing. The team has been watching it all week. There are probably 20 copies floating around by now." All of them laughed.
"Save one for me, will you? I'd better go up and see what damage has been done in my office." He turned away, then hesitated, looking back at Speed. "Did you want something, Speed?"
"Um, no. Just welcome back, H."
"Thank you." Horatio left for his office, and Speed's eyes tracked him. Calleigh touched him lightly on the arm.
"Hey, you okay?"
"Yeah, fine. Better get back to work, before the boss gets mad at us." He headed back for Trace, still thinking about Horatio. The thing that surprised Speed most, thinking it over all weekend, was that Horatio had stayed in Miami all his life. Speed's first reaction would have been distance, physical as well as emotional. But Horatio had stayed here, still loved the city. He shook his head again, and his cell phone rang. "Hello. Hey, Breeze! Thanks for calling. Look, I am really sorry about the other night. An emergency came up, and. . . " Delko, crossing through the lab, looked across at him and gave him a thumbs up, and Speed returned it. "This weekend? Yeah, that'd be good." He hesitated. "I can't promise nothing will come up - the job takes over sometimes - but I promise if it does, I'll call you this time. Great, see you then."
Up in his office, Horatio was staring aghast at the tangled up mass of paperwork on his desk. Had Wilson done anything other than annoy the team last week? With a sigh, he dove in, sorting it neatly into stacks first of all, categorizing the mess. A knock sounded gently on his door, and he looked up to see Alexx.
"Hi, Alexx. Missed you."
"We all missed you. As you can probably tell." She came across and handed him a cup of coffee, a welcome back gift. "Horatio." She waited until he had looked back up from the paperwork to meet her eyes. She wanted an honest assessment of him. "Are you okay?" She didn't limit the question. He could make as little or as much of it as he chose to.
He gave her the honor of not dismissing it. "I'm fine, Alexx." He was, she decided. By his definition, anyway, and Calleigh was improving that definition all the time. At least he wasn't alone anymore.
"I'd better get back to work. Just wanted to welcome you back." She smiled at him and started for the door.
"Alexx." She turned back. "Thank you." He smiled at her, and she returned it and then left, heading down the stairs.
She stopped at the bottom and looked back up at the glass window. She could see Horatio working at his desk. He had already reduced the mess to some organization. "We did miss you, Horatio," she said softly, then headed for her own work. Around her, CSI gradually returned to normal.
*** ***
In the next episode of CSI:Miami (Fearful Symmetry): Breeze finds a body, and an injury threatens to end Calleigh's career at CSI.
Queen Victoria
***
Alexx was, for once, shocked into speechlessness. She gaped at the file Speed and Eric had placed in front of her, at the pictures. Alexx spent every day investigating violent death, but the pure senseless rage, the brutality of this went straight to her heart. Her medical eye wrenched itself from what used to be a face to see the clenched hands, the blood on the fingernails that was not the victim's own. "Oh baby, you fought for it, didn't you?" she murmured, overwhelmed with sympathy for a woman who had died almost 30 years ago. She looked back up at her coworkers, both standing there uncertainly.
"So what do we do?" asked Speed. He and Eric were totally over their heads in this one, and they had realized it the minute they read Rosalind's case file.
Alexx was uncertain herself for once. "I knew his mother had been killed, and he had found her, but I never imagined . . ." She looked back down at the crime scene photos. "He takes that same week off every year? The whole week?"
"Yeah," said Eric. "Every single year since then. I think he relives it or something. The investigation took four days. I think he relives the whole thing."
"29 years, and no one ever noticed," said Alexx softly.
"He's so good at hiding," said Speed. "He didn't want us to know."
"But what do we do?" Eric persisted. "Can we help him or something?"
Alexx was starting to think it through. "You remember, when he came back Monday, you asked how vacation was, and he said it was better than he had hoped for."
"Yeah, that's right," said Speed. Monday seemed like an eternity ago.
"If we'd found this out before this year, I'd say we needed to push him on it. Support him whether he wanted us to or not. But he's got Calleigh now. She knows, and she isn't going to be content with just knowing. I think she's working on him already. They took last week together. She's helping him with it."
Eric stared at her. "Are you saying we should just do nothing?"
Alexx sighed. "Believe me, I'd rather speak up, too." In fact, she'd like to shake him, try to knock some sense into that stubborn head of his. 28 years before this one, and he'd spent them alone. "But he's not alone anymore. And Calleigh's more effective than we would be. I don't think it would gain anything, and he would be uncomfortable with us knowing."
"But we're his friends," Speed protested.
"He knows that. He does know it. But there's a better answer in Calleigh, and she's already got her foot in the door. Sometimes, you have to show friendship by not saying or doing something, instead of by doing it." She looked at them sympathetically. "It'll be hard for me, too. But Calleigh called this one the other night, and I really do think she's right. We shouldn't push him on this. Leave her a clear field to work." They reluctantly nodded. "It can't hurt for us to try to take any more cases with faceless bodies so he won't have to, though. It's a wonder he didn't have a heart attack on the spot seeing Marcella. Especially if he'd just spent last week reliving his mother's case."
"But why do you suppose they celebrated it last week?" Speed wondered. "H said that himself. They had dinner catered and all. And what was that about timing?"
Alexx shook her head. "His ex-wife must have known, so someone who'd talked to her could assume that he would be on vacation. But we still don't know everything here, and we aren't going to."
"And we're just supposed to accept that?" said Eric. It violated his CSI principles as well as his larger friendship ones.
"Sorry," said Alexx. "You did ask for my advice."
"What is going on here?" Wilson's voice echoed off the walls of the morgue. "Don't you have enough to do? Get to work."
Speed quickly gathered Rosalind's case file before Wilson could see it. "Yes, sir, right away, sir." He scurried off, leaving Wilson feeling insulted and wondering why. Eric followed more slowly.
Wilson turned to face Alexx. "What is going on here?"
"They just wanted to ask my advice on something. Technically, we were all early, anyway, so it didn't come off the clock."
"Something about Caine, I bet," Wilson guessed. She didn't deny it. "What is it about that guy, anyway? He's been gone two days, but everybody acts like he's still here. What's so special about him?"
Alexx met his eyes squarely. "He cares," she said simply. Wilson hesitated on the brink of another question, decided that it would sound unprofessional, and left. He would never admit it, but he was actually starting to envy Horatio. For all that he had read about management techniques and career advancement, loyalty couldn't be gained by reading the right books.
***
Horatio parked in the lot next to the professional office building. He eyed a car three slots down, an understatedly expensive looking sedan with a customized plate reading HD DCTR. "Oh, do I want to process that car. 99% chance it transported the body to that field."
Calleigh laughed. "We have to get enough for a warrant, first. Once we do, we've got him cold. Like you said, he does make mistakes on the evidence."
"Right." Horatio unfastened his seatbelt and turned to face her, laying out the battle plan to the troops, even though she was the only troop present. He looked better than he had all week, Calleigh thought, intense, prepared. At last, he knew who he was after and had a plan. "Now then, once we get in there, let me deal with him. I've got two good keys on him, and I think I can break him. Your job is to watch me. Don't let him get to me. I'm counting on you."
"Got it," she said, although she still had her doubts about this. They had spent the past hour looking for alternatives and finding none. All the evidence Tripp had now would lead to Aster, not Harwood, and they had to get something more to get a warrant for his office. They each had a miniature tape recorder in their pockets, for two copies of the coming interview. One more step they had taken was to write down their suspicions about the motive (leaving out a few unnecessary details on the method) and leave that note planted in their house, not obviously but where Eric and Speed would find it as soon as they started looking. If anything went wrong at this meeting and they disappeared, CSI and Tripp would have enough for a search warrant on Harwood. "What are your two keys?" she wondered. He had been quiet the whole drive over, but she could almost see the wheels turning, he had been thinking so fiercely.
"Inefficiency and loss of control," said Horatio. "I think either one would rattle him. I'll try both."
"Good idea. They would have bothered Chris Harwood." She was perfectly content to leave this mental wrestling match to Horatio. He could think much faster than she could. She would be keeping a wary eye on him, though, keeping him anchored in the present. His trust warmed her to her toes. Full and equal partners. That was marriage. "Horatio, if anything happens. . . "
He silenced her with a look, shaking his head. "We aren't going to be defeated, Calleigh. We're stronger than he is. We have truth, and we have each other. It's no contest."
She leaned across and kissed him deeply. "I love you, Horatio."
"I love you, too." He returned her kiss with more, then broke away and got out of the car, calm, competent, in command. "Let's go break this guy."
***
"Mr. Harwood, Lieutenant Horatio Caine from the Miami-Dade Police would like a few words with you, when it's convenient." The secretary listened for a moment, then hung up. "Actually, he's free right now. We had a cancellation this morning. Go right on in."
Horatio entered the office with an air of confidence as if it were his own. Paneled walls, leather chairs, and the proverbial couch over against one wall. Mark Harwood was just standing up behind his desk. He looked like an older version of Chris Harwood, more professional, with a thicker veneer, but the eyes were empty, yet calculating at the same time. Calleigh abruptly remembered the graphologist's description of Hitler, a man with a shrunken soul. Here was another one. She shivered slightly, then caught herself. Harwood hadn't seen it, though. His attention was locked on Horatio, as Horatio had predicted. Was there a faint flicker of puzzlement there as he studied him? Horatio hadn't even given the secretary Calleigh's name. She would be much more efficient in her role here if Harwood dismissed her as a nonentity.
They sat in the two chairs side by side in front of the desk, and Harwood took his place behind it. "Lieutenant Caine, what can I do for you?"
Horatio leaned back slightly in his chair. He was playing it to the hilt, smooth, polished, and confident. "We have a few questions we'd like to ask about one of your patients. It relates to a murder investigation. Actually, the victim was my ex-wife, Marcella. When did she start seeing you for counseling?"
"About a year and a half ago," Harwood started, then pulled himself up slightly. It was an old interrogation trick, to begin a question with when did you instead of did you. Amazing how often that works, thought Calleigh. "I'm afraid I can't share exact details of our sessions, though. That's privileged information. I can say that she had a lovely personality to match her beautiful face."
Horatio flinched slightly but didn't falter. When they had sat down, he had put his left hand across, resting it on Calleigh's right leg, and she was gripping it with both of her own, shielded by the desk. She tightened up the pressure, stroking it softly, holding him in the present. With that subtle but calculated shot, though, she instantly mentally convicted Harwood. He had done everything they suspected and more.
"Yes, she was a beautiful person," Horatio agreed. "Could you tell us, without violating client privilege, when you saw her last? When you saw her last alive, that is? We're trying to create a timetable."
Harwood weighed that question, considering his next move in this verbal chess match as he reassessed his opponent. From everything Marcella had said, this man should have had no sleep for three nights now and been haunted by images he couldn't get rid of. In fact, he should have been arrested himself, too. Yet here he was sitting across the desk, conducting the investigation. Harwood was scrambling slightly, and he wasn't used to it. "I saw her on March 30th. A Thursday. And she had an appointment this last Thursday, but she didn't show up."
"We believe she was murdered last Tuesday, the 4th. Actually, we have quite a bit to go on in this investigation. The murderer was a bit sloppy in several areas. He made quite a few mistakes."
That shot went home. Harwood became almost visibly a bit more ruffled. "Such as? What were his mistakes?"
"He really has no concept of the finer points of material evidence," said Horatio. "The Crime Lab has already sifted through several false leads, and we are closing in on the real evidence now. He made a very amateur attempt at framing someone through a planted letter, for instance."
Harwood tried to slow down his heart rate. It wasn't fear that was kicking it up but this man sitting there calmly when he should be mentally shattered by now. Horatio gave him an icy smile and waited politely for his opponent's next move. "How can you tell that letters are forged?" he asked. "Did the signatures on them turn out to be fakes? Surely you can compare them to the person's signature."
"What makes you think there were signatures?" asked Horatio. "I'm referring to a letter found on the body, typewritten, without an actual handwritten signature. It was allegedly from a friend of Marcella's named Karen, but she denies it. Were you referring to some other letters, perhaps? There weren't any other letters found on the body."
Harwood was starting to get confused, now. Was this man trying to trap him, or was it actually possible that they hadn't found the other letters? Was that why he wasn't arrested yet? "Karen. Yes, she mentioned a Karen. She also mentioned you once or twice."
"I'm sure she did," said Horatio silkily. "I notice that you specialize in hypnotherapy. Did you ever have occasion to hypnotize Marcella?"
"No," said Harwood. "It isn't something I use for all patients."
"How do you use it? Just out of curiosity."
"People who want to stop smoking, for instance, or to break a habit."
"You can also implant ideas in people's minds, can't you?" asked Horatio. "Such as to combat depression, for instance."
"Yes, it's really a fascinating field."
"I'm sure the possibilities are endless." Horatio's eyes locked with Harwood's, and Harwood, still trying to work out how much this man knew, not to mention how he was still functional, launched a counterattack.
"I hope you find whoever did this. To utterly destroy a face like that is beyond just killing. Who could obliterate beauty like that? A man who could do that would kill his own mother."
That hit Horatio harder than anything yet, and his mind jumped, vaulting clear over Marcella to arrive instantly at Rosalind. Calleigh gripped his hand even harder, but he was slipping away from her, and he didn't return the pressure this time. She dug in all her fingernails on his hand, biting into the flesh deeply, literally drawing blood, and she finally felt him move, squeezing her back. Harwood had seen that remark score a hit, though. No one could have missed it. This man must be made of iron to resist his plots so well, but they weren't without effect. Horatio stared down at his hand for a moment, locked between Calleigh's two, then looked back up at Harwood, lasers coming to bear on cold steel.
"How did you know her face was destroyed, Mr. Harwood? Marcella died by gunshot to the heart. Nothing about her face was reported in the papers."
Harwood grasped for some explanation. "I must have heard it from somewhere."
"Where would you have heard it? You don't have any connection to this investigation. Yet, anyway. You forgot how much information is public knowledge, didn't you? Quite inefficient of you."
It was Harwood's turn to be jolted. Denial and anger rocked through him. Horatio was right, thought Calleigh, being accused of inefficiency was worse to this man than being accused of murder. Horatio saw his victory but also saw something else in Harwood's eyes. One thing he had gambled on was that Harwood wouldn't try anything extreme in his office in the middle of the morning, but he suddenly wasn't sure anymore. He slipped his right hand into his pocket unobtrusively and flipped open the cell phone without taking it out. Moving by feel, he dialed Tripp's number, then pushed his finger across the earpiece to avoid letting any sound escape. Right hand in his pocket, left hand locked in Calleigh's, he leaned forward a bit and followed his advantage, holding Harwood with his eyes.
"You know, one point about hypnotizing people. They can always be rehypnotized by someone else. We can also interrogate people under the influence of drugs. Sodium pentathol. The person being questioned has no defenses, no control." There were major legal issues involved there, but Horatio was gambling that Harwood wouldn't know that.
Fear gripped Harwood, and he actually broke out in a sweat. Being accused of inefficiency made him mad, but the thought of being interrogated under drugs, of having no control over his mind, terrified him. He quietly slipped his desk drawer over and pulled out a shiny revolver with a silencer on the end. "This game has gone far enough, Mr. Caine."
"You keep a revolver in your desk," said Horatio, for Tripp's benefit. "How trite. Couldn't you be more original than that?"
"Sorry, it's only a back up when other plans fail. I prefer to use other weapons."
"I've noticed," said Horatio. "Any weapon can miss the target, though."
Harwood stared at him. Calleigh might as well not have existed. "How are you doing this? There was nothing wrong with the plan."
"There was a lot wrong with the plan," Horatio corrected him. "Beginning with immorality. The letters are fakes. We're onto Aster, but do you really think he's going to hold up under questioning? Especially when he is rehypnotized. And when they get down to questioning you, if they do have to use drugs, it should be interesting. Marcella wasn't the first." The idea of being questioned under drugs made Harwood flinch again. "There will also be evidence in your car, trace evidence from transporting the body." He hoped Tripp was moving while listening to all this.
"But the plastic . . ." Harwood started, then broke off.
Horatio gave him an icy smile. "You underestimate us, Mr. Harwood. There will also be records. I'm sure you keep records of your professional extracurricular activities somewhere."
Harwood didn't deny the records, but like his brother, he abruptly felt an urge to explain why. "You don't understand what power is."
"Wrong," said Horatio. "You don't understand what power is, because real power is based on truth. And the truth is that people are valuable of themselves. Your brother never realized that either." Calleigh shifted slightly, and he stroked her hand with his thumb. Her eyes flickered up to meet his. It's okay, he reassured her silently, and she settled back, believing him. He suddenly thought of Rosalind alive and tracked that thought out, letting Harwood see it. "My mother once told me that manipulation of people is a special kind of evil. But it is still evil, Mr. Harwood. She was a very perceptive person, my mother. And beautiful." Harwood was gaping at him. Marcella had sworn under hypnosis that he couldn't remember what his mother looked like. "And don't you think you'll get some attention by committing murder in an office building at 10:00 AM? Even with the silencer, our bodies are bound to get in the way. Maybe you should tell your secretary to cancel further appointments today."
"I'd rather hypnotize you, but you can't do it against someone's will." Harwood shook his head. "I can deal with it, though. Maybe even frame one of the other patients for the murder."
"Like you framed Aster. That won't hold up, you know."
Harwood was honestly curious. "What's wrong with it?"
"I'm sure they'll find the murder weapon in his house, but they won't find trace evidence in his car. And he's weak. When they question him under hypnosis, he'll give you away instantly."
"How will they know to question him under hypnosis? You're not going to be telling anyone."
"I already have," said Horatio. "If anything happens to us, you're signing your own death warrant. I left everything written down."
"Right," said Harwood. "They all say that." He hesitated again. He wasn't unwilling to commit murder, but he did want all of his questions answered. "Why aren't you under arrest?"
"The letters are forgeries, like I said."
"It's your signature. Take it to any expert."
"I already have. Did you know experts can tell tracings from actual written signatures? But I wouldn't have been arrested anyway. I had a cast iron alibi for the whole week."
Harwood actually jumped. "What? She told me you would be alone that week. It was under hypnosis; she had to be telling the truth. She said you would always be alone."
Horatio looked at him levelly. "She was wrong," he said, and his hand tightened around Calleigh's.
"Freeze!" Tripp and reinforcements came barreling through the door, guns raised. Harwood wasn't suicidal. He slowly placed the gun on the desk and fell back on more routine methods of defense.
"I want a lawyer."
"You'll need one," said Horatio.
"You're under arrest for murder," said Tripp. "Stand up and come around the desk slowly." Harwood complied, and as one of the other officers snapped the cuffs into place, Tripp turned to Horatio.
"What took you so long?" asked Horatio curiously.
"Had to trace the cell phone call. It takes a minute. Just what the hell did you think you were doing here?"
"Taking your advice," said Horatio. Tripp gave him a puzzled glare. "You told me, when I found him, I should make myself an appointment."
***
Horatio and Calleigh sat side by side in one of the witness rooms at headquarters. They had just finished making statements and had also turned over the two tape recordings of the conversation. "Just a few minutes, while we get these typed up," said the sergeant, "and we'll be back for you to sign them."
"Could you get me a first aid kit?" asked Calleigh. Horatio's hand had stopped bleeding, but it was scratched deeply in several places. The sergeant came back with one, then left again, and she gently started wiping the blood away, cleansing the cuts. "Sorry," she said needlessly.
"I was glad you did it," said Horatio. "It pulled me back." He shivered slightly. "A man with a shrunken soul," he said, echoing Calleigh's earlier thought. "How many do you suppose are out there?"
"Not as many as there are honest people. Truth is more powerful, remember?" She finished bandaging his hand and picked it up, kissing it gently. He smiled at her.
"Quite a week. Calleigh, I promise you, one day we're going to settle down and lead a normal life."
"Why would we want to do that?" she retorted. "Look at it this way, Horatio, we're never bored."
"True," he said. A knock sounded on the door, and the captain entered.
"Horatio, I just heard about Mark Harwood." He noticed the bandaged hand. "Did you hurt yourself taking him down?"
"Just scratched it on something." Horatio stood up to face his superior. "So am I reinstated?"
The captain surveyed him. No cracks were visible, but they had to be there. Being framed for your ex-wife's murder was enough to stress anyone. "Not so fast."
"What?" Calleigh stood up alongside Horatio. "It was a set up. The whole thing was a set up."
"His offense was," the captain reminded her. He pulled a key ring out of his pocket and removed a key from it. "You are both still on suspension until next Monday. I have a cabin up in the Smokey Mountains, and for the next three days, you are confined to that cabin or to its near vicinity." He handed over the key. "And I hope you'll use the time to think over your sins," he said, eyeing Calleigh.
"Yes, sir," she said. "I promise, I will never assault my supervisor again." She put one hand on Horatio's arm.
The captain extended his hand, and Horatio took it. "I am sorry about this week, Horatio, but you understand, I had to take action."
"I understand perfectly, sir," he said. "No offense taken."
"Now," said the captain, "as soon as those statements get signed, you are to report to that cabin without delay. And I don't want to see you back until Monday. Understood?"
"Yes, sir," said Horatio and Calleigh together.
***
The entire first shift at CSI was waiting in the hall when Horatio and Calleigh entered Monday morning. They broke into spontaneous applause, and Horatio, touched, hid it under a front of gruffness. "Come on, people, stop hanging around and get to work." Wilson watched, amazed, as the team instantly and willingly responded. The words were nearly the same as his, but the reaction was as different as night and day. He walked across to Horatio himself.
"Lieutenant Caine, welcome back. I hope you'll find things not too far behind. I'm transferring back to my old town. Miami is just too big of a city for me, I think."
"It grows on you, though," said Horatio. "Best of luck, Lieutenant." They shook hands, and Wilson, with a nervous glance at Calleigh, entered the elevator. Horatio grinned at her as the elevator doors closed. "Wish I'd seen you smack him."
"You can," said Speed, behind them. "The security camera got the whole thing. The team has been watching it all week. There are probably 20 copies floating around by now." All of them laughed.
"Save one for me, will you? I'd better go up and see what damage has been done in my office." He turned away, then hesitated, looking back at Speed. "Did you want something, Speed?"
"Um, no. Just welcome back, H."
"Thank you." Horatio left for his office, and Speed's eyes tracked him. Calleigh touched him lightly on the arm.
"Hey, you okay?"
"Yeah, fine. Better get back to work, before the boss gets mad at us." He headed back for Trace, still thinking about Horatio. The thing that surprised Speed most, thinking it over all weekend, was that Horatio had stayed in Miami all his life. Speed's first reaction would have been distance, physical as well as emotional. But Horatio had stayed here, still loved the city. He shook his head again, and his cell phone rang. "Hello. Hey, Breeze! Thanks for calling. Look, I am really sorry about the other night. An emergency came up, and. . . " Delko, crossing through the lab, looked across at him and gave him a thumbs up, and Speed returned it. "This weekend? Yeah, that'd be good." He hesitated. "I can't promise nothing will come up - the job takes over sometimes - but I promise if it does, I'll call you this time. Great, see you then."
Up in his office, Horatio was staring aghast at the tangled up mass of paperwork on his desk. Had Wilson done anything other than annoy the team last week? With a sigh, he dove in, sorting it neatly into stacks first of all, categorizing the mess. A knock sounded gently on his door, and he looked up to see Alexx.
"Hi, Alexx. Missed you."
"We all missed you. As you can probably tell." She came across and handed him a cup of coffee, a welcome back gift. "Horatio." She waited until he had looked back up from the paperwork to meet her eyes. She wanted an honest assessment of him. "Are you okay?" She didn't limit the question. He could make as little or as much of it as he chose to.
He gave her the honor of not dismissing it. "I'm fine, Alexx." He was, she decided. By his definition, anyway, and Calleigh was improving that definition all the time. At least he wasn't alone anymore.
"I'd better get back to work. Just wanted to welcome you back." She smiled at him and started for the door.
"Alexx." She turned back. "Thank you." He smiled at her, and she returned it and then left, heading down the stairs.
She stopped at the bottom and looked back up at the glass window. She could see Horatio working at his desk. He had already reduced the mess to some organization. "We did miss you, Horatio," she said softly, then headed for her own work. Around her, CSI gradually returned to normal.
*** ***
In the next episode of CSI:Miami (Fearful Symmetry): Breeze finds a body, and an injury threatens to end Calleigh's career at CSI.