A/N: To Nath, Geena, and any other writers who have had these delectable swimming pool scenes recently, the final scene of More Deadly is pure coincidence, not plagiarism. This story has actually been finished for several months; I just hadn't had time to write it down and post it. The scene was formed before I had read all of yours. We can never have too many swimming pool scenes, though. H in a swimming pool. :: swoon :: But first, we've got a case to finish up. Thanks to everyone who read this one.
(H/C)
"He will meet no suave discussion but the instant, white-hot, wild,
Wakened female of the species warring."
Rudyard Kipling, The Female of the Species
(H/C)
They came in cautiously, discretely, leaving the cars over a block away. The neighborhood was beautifully landscaped with trees and shrubbery. Very convenient shrubbery, from the point of view of the police. They huddled behind the hedge alongside the driveway now, outlining their careful plan of attack. Horatio hadn't forgotten the profiler's warning. Tripp was there with two other cops. From CSI, Eric and Speed had come along with Horatio and Calleigh. They had insisted that three and a half days straight of watching Travis Fox had earned them the right to be there, and Horatio had to concede the point.
Tripp stared at the house through a gap in the leaves. "Wish we could see in that garage. No sign of anybody."
"From all indications, she lives alone," Horatio said. "I haven't seen any movement, either. Calleigh?"
Calleigh had binoculars. "Nothing. Nice rooms, what I can see through the curtains, but no person."
"Doesn't mean she's not there," Eric pointed out.
"Let's find out, shall we?" Horatio turned to the two other cops. "You work your way around to the back door. Five minutes from now, we'll go in. I've got 4:00 on the nose." They all checked watches, and the two cops disappeared around a corner of the hedge. The others worked their way up as close as they could get to the front door before breaking cover, then darted across to flatten themselves against the house, avoiding the windows, as they approached the front door. If the woman was inside, she would have had to look at just the right second to see them. Eric and Speed automatically held back a little – the other three were much better shots. Tripp took up position on one side of the door, Horatio and Calleigh together on the other. Horatio's eyes were glued to his watch as the hand ticked down the final seconds. He nodded, and Tripp burst into action.
"Miami-Dade PD!" They crashed into the house and were met by silence, except from the two cops entering from the other side. Not leaving it to chance, they started carefully checking each room, guns ready. Nothing.
The two other officers came back down the long hall, meeting Horatio, Tripp, and Calleigh in the middle of the living room. "All clear back there," one of them said.
"She isn't here," Eric said, stating the obvious.
"The car is, though." Speed had found the garage with the blue Escort parked precisely in the center. He put his gun up and pulled on gloves, already starting to think of processing the car. Eric joined him.
Tripp jerked his head at the cops. "You two, keep watch. Front and back door. She'll be back. Probably took a walk. Don't even think of getting distracted." They each took up their stations at the windows nearest the front and back doors, concealed in the curtains where the woman would not see them on her return. The rest cautiously started to explore the house, looking at the details now that they were satisfied it was unoccupied. Speed and Eric stayed in the garage with the car that had hauled four bodies.
Calleigh started in the kitchen. "Horatio." He was there before she finished speaking his name. "Look at this." The kitchen was impeccably kept, as was every other room, but on the table, there was a plate with two chocolate chip cookies on it next to a glass of milk. Horatio sniffed the milk.
"It isn't spoiled, but it's not really cold anymore. Been there an hour or so but not all day. Those look like fresh homemade cookies, too."
Calleigh followed his thoughts. "The flour. This is creepy, Horatio. Do you think she's expecting her daughter to just come home like she used to?"
"I doubt it." Horatio nodded toward a picture on the wall of a pixie-faced girl with slightly wary eyes contradicting the smile. The frame of the picture had a black ribbon fastened around it. "She knows she's dead. Maybe she's just trying to keep the memory alive." He tilted his head, studying the photo. "Look at that child, Calleigh. Look at her eyes. What do you see?"
Calleigh looked more closely and then jumped suddenly as the elusive memory of where she'd seen that expression pinned itself down. A golden-haired child staring at herself in the mirror, with the smile that tells the world she's fine and the eyes that admit she is not. "Horatio, I think she was being abused somehow."
Horatio slipped his arm around her and gave her a quick, steadying squeeze. "I agree. After that car hit her, superficial injuries might have been assigned to the same cause on the autopsy, especially since they knew what killed her before starting. Easy to get careless and assume."
Calleigh had herself firmly rooted back in the present now. "Too bad Alexx didn't do that one."
"Then again, it might not have been physical. There are other kinds of abuse. Travis Fox wondered why she ran out into the street. An 8-year-old should have known better. Maybe she was running from something. If the mother really was to blame, that could have convinced her Fox had to die."
Calleigh nodded. "Deny the truth by removing the accuser."
Tripp's voice came from down the hall. "H, come look at this."
Horatio took one glance at the sentinel standing guard by the back door, which led into the kitchen. "Keep your eyes open," he reminded, and the man nodded. Horatio and Calleigh started together down the long hall and found Tripp in a small side room, obviously a spare bedroom once. Now, it had all furniture removed, and in one corner on the floor was a large black roll of landscape plastic. Next to it was a neat assortment of cigarette lighters of various types. On the wall was a 16 x 20 framed picture of Angie, and again, the frame was trimmed in black.
"Eric," Horatio called. Eric appeared behind them.
"H, that car is a goldmine. We're just starting, and we've found a few hairs caught in the headrest, some skin in the floorboard sloughed off from a burn, not to mention the groove from your bullet. This is definitely the right woman."
"We'd just come to that conclusion." Horatio stepped back to let Eric see in the room. "She put the bodies on the plastic and worked them in here. That's a 120-watt bulb. Start getting pictures of this. Speed can keep working on the car." He walked back himself to check the guard at the front door, who was the picture of alert duty. The window gave a clear view of the driveway and front yard. No one was in sight. "Where is she?" Horatio asked himself out loud.
Calleigh had turned away from the obvious mutilation room and explored further. At the end of the hall was the enormous master bedroom on one side and obviously Angie's bedroom directly across from it. Even Angie's room was huge, especially by 8-year-old standards, and she had had her own elaborate stereo and television. No lack of money anywhere in this house. "Look at this, Horatio. She's laid clothes out here on the bed for her." Horatio came up the hall to join her, studying the room. The same picture lined in black was there, too. It seemed to be in every room at least once. Calleigh shook her head. "It's like she's still pretending she's alive. At least, I hope it's pretending."
"Psychiatrists are going to earn their pay with this one. She's way too organized and premeditating to be insane, though. I saw her last night. Absolutely calculating eyes, intelligent, definitely fully there. She had the sense to run, too."
"This is strange." Calleigh had opened the miniature roll-top desk to reveal a computer. "Didn't we decide she didn't have a computer?"
Horatio came across to kneel in front of the CPU. "I'll admit, I thought she didn't have one. Otherwise, why use handwritten notes?" He carefully dusted the front. "No fingerprints on the power button or the disk drives. She doesn't use this. Angie probably liked computers, so it must be another monument to her memory." He considered for a minute. "Which might make what's on here interesting. I wonder if Angie kept a diary." He hit power, and the computer came to life with a soft beep. Horatio sat down, folding his long legs with some difficulty under the child-sized desk.
Calleigh had gone across to the closet and opened it. It was a walk-in closet with clothes neatly hung on the sides, stuffed animals in a net overhead, and boxes on a shelf at the back. "These clothes aren't dusty at all, Horatio. I swear, she keeps them washed."
Horatio didn't answer, caught up in exploring Angie's young world. The computer had the usual games on it, but he was more interested in the word processing program. He opened it, checked the list of documents, and instantly spotted a file unimaginatively named 'my diary.' He opened it and was swept instantly into the mind of a confused child whose mother bought her everything, smothered her with attention, and also 'played new games,' as Angie had put it. He read the entries with growing disgust and pity. Behind him, Calleigh explored the items on the shelf at the back of the closet.
A gasp from the door startled both of them. Horatio turned to face Sylvia Carpenter, and her eyes traveled from his badge to the computer. She realized instantly that the cops had caught up with her, but that fact paled for the moment next to another. Angie's computer, which had not been turned on since her death, was being used by a man. In a split second, fury flooded over her, and she charged. Horatio was at a disadvantage sitting down and still half pinned by the desk, but before her wild surge reached him, the other person in the room slid smoothly into action. Calleigh fired from the closet door, aiming for the knees, a shot designed to bring her down but not kill her. The bullet shattered the woman's knee, and her wild charge collapsed as her leg crumpled under her. She fell, her hands still reaching for Horatio, fingers extended futilely like claws. He stood and looked down at the open carpet still between them, then turned to Calleigh. "Thanks," he said simply, but his eyes said more.
"You're welcome," she replied. The silence of the house had been shattered by the gunshot, and now a flurry of activity replaced the echoes. Tripp appeared at the door, gun drawn, and quickly scanned the situation.
"Everybody okay?"
"Thanks to Calleigh. We'll need an ambulance for the killer, though."
"How the hell did she get in here?" He realized that they couldn't answer him and stalked down the hall, shouting for the two officers who had supposedly been guarding the doors.
Horatio knelt next to the Black Widow, and she made a wild grab for him as he turned her over. He dodged, admiring Calleigh's shooting at the same time. The woman wasn't in any danger, but she wasn't going anywhere on her own. On her back now, her eyes met his with fury but full intelligence behind it. Unable to reach him physically, she struck verbally, railing, cursing him and all his sex. Horatio stood silently watching her, but remembering the little he had read of the diary, he could not find pity. Calleigh came up beside him, their bodies touching, and stood there taking the verbal onslaught with him until the ambulance arrived.
(H/C)
Horatio closed the third door into the house, the side door that entered the master bedroom, and stared at it. The interior of the door was a full-length mirror. It blended almost perfectly into the décor. Only the small knob gave it away. "I should have checked in here myself," he said softly.
Calleigh put a hand on his shoulder. "They said they had cleared it. You had no reason to doubt them. That's really hard to spot even knowing it's there."
"Still, I should have checked the whole house, made sure the scene was secure."
"Look at it this way. They're the ones who went around to find the other exits from the outside. They should have checked the fourth side of the house, too, not just the one they walked around. It's easily visible from outside, and they never looked at that end."
"That doesn't cancel my mistake," he insisted. "With the team in here, I should have checked every inch of it myself." He wasn't thinking that he had come closer to being hurt himself than anyone else on the team.
She kissed him. "Horatio, I hate to say it, but how do you know you would have spotted that door from the inside on a quick scan? It's designed to blend in." Of course, she knew he would have spotted it, but he didn't consider his perception unusual. "They missed it. You might have, too. And nobody was hurt. Everything's okay."
His thoughts shifted. "Thanks to you. Have I ever told you how much I admire your shooting?"
"I think it's been mentioned," she laughed.
He relaxed enough to smile at her. "Among your many other skills," he said silkily, then instantly dropped back into professional mode, smoothly switching gears. "Now that we know she's in custody, let's really start processing this place." They fanned out in silent teamwork, starting around the room, each knowing the direction the other would take without words. Calleigh picked up a book from the nightstand. The ABC Murders by Agatha Christie.
"Horatio," she said. He turned, and she held up the book. He nodded, seeing it purely as evidence.
"Nice work, Cal. Bet her fingerprints are all over that."
Calleigh smiled to herself as she tucked the book into an evidence envelope and logged it. She often thought that Horatio's intuition and ability to fit seemingly unconnected things seamlessly together were among CSI's best weapons. Shooting a gun at a target, even a moving one, at a range of only ten feet was easy in comparison. He, of course, would never see it that way. He probably didn't even remember that the ABC theory had been his brainstorm in the first place. His mind earned her admiration, but it was his heart that added her love. She realized that she was standing there just watching him and started working again, continuing around the room in her direction, knowing that without conscious effort, they would meet precisely in the middle.
(H/C)
The psychiatrist sat in one of the chairs in front of Horatio's desk, Calleigh in the other. "This is one of those tough cases that I can understand but not condone. Basically, her mother died when she was a young girl. Her father raised her alone. He was wealthy, and he bought her everything, but he also was violent and sexually abused her. He also, incidentally, looked quite a bit like Travis Fox. He died just after she turned 21, and she was left rich enough that she didn't have to work. She dabbled in this and that, tried to write and paint but had no talent for it. She volunteered some. Then, she was raped and got pregnant from it. Instead of getting an abortion, she decided to devote her life to the child, give her happiness. She'd never found a purpose in life, and she thought she saw one there, raising a family without a man's help. She hates all men."
"I got that impression," Horatio said, remembering that ten-minute verbal tirade while the ambulance was coming.
"So she tried to be with Angie 24 hours a day, absolutely smothering her in love. She'd never had a normal sexual life herself, though, and she gradually started experimenting on her daughter. It's clear from the diary that Angie felt absolutely choked by her mother's attentions, even the non sexual ones. There's no entry for the day Angie died, but I imagine something pushed her over the edge. She just couldn't face it anymore, not at that minute, and she ran. Her mother was behind her, by the way, coming across the yard. She saw her get hit by the car. Later that evening, she was flipping through the channels, trying to distract herself, and happened to see Travis Fox. He looked like her father, anyway, and his accusing her of fault in front of all Miami was too much. She couldn't get it out of her mind. She thought killing him would stop the accusations in her head. Somehow, it became his fault, and her father's fault by extension. She's plotted this for almost a year. Intelligent enough to go slowly and work out a smokescreen."
"She wasn't going to stop, though," Horatio stated.
"No. She'd discovered the thrill of it. Outwitting men, then killing them, then attacking their manhood. To her, any man, especially any man who resembled her father, deserved it, and she was doing society a service. I don't think she would have ever stopped voluntarily."
"What about the cookies and milk?" Calleigh asked. "Why did she keep doing things for Angie if she knew Angie was dead?"
"Angie had been her whole life for eight years. She didn't know anything else, and she didn't have to work for money. It probably would have been better if she'd had a job, something to occupy her time. She knew Angie kept a diary, incidentally, but she never read it. She never turned on the computer, even after Angie's death. I think she wanted to convince herself that she had really been good to her daughter, and she was afraid of what Angie might have written. She kept saying over and over how much she really loved Angie and what a good life she gave her. She never once hit her, not like her father had done. To her, that was the definition of a good childhood."
Horatio shook his head, reluctant pity in his eyes. "Like you said, we can understand it, but we can't condone it. Did she tell you all of this?"
"Most of it, although it took several hours. Most serial killers, once they're caught, don't deny their crimes. I also read Angie's diary. Of course, the defense will find some expert witnesses who will say she's absolutely crazy."
Horatio nodded. "That's the only possible defense. We've got a mountain of physical evidence from the house, the car, and the gun, not to mention her handwriting and fingerprints. Four murders. Insanity is her only chance to escape the death penalty. You agree that she's sane?"
"Yes," the psychiatrist replied. "There's too much premeditation, too much effort to cover her tracks. She knew what she was doing, and she knew it was wrong." She stood and shook hands with both Calleigh and Horatio. "Well, Lieutenant Caine, congratulations on solving this case. It was a difficult one."
Horatio gave her a sad smile. "Just doing my job."
(H/C)
Horatio rolled over in his sleep, reaching for her. The void on the other side of the bed woke him up, and he sat up, listening intently. There was no sound, but his unerring senses found her. He slipped out of bed and padded across the hall to where Calleigh stood in the middle of the nursery, looking at Rosalind in the faint glow of the nightlight. Rosalind was sound asleep with her fingers in her mouth. "You okay?" Horatio asked, sliding his arms around her to lock together over her stomach.
Calleigh nodded, leaning back against his warm, reassuring presence. "I was having a dream about Dad."
"I'm sorry." He kissed the back of her head. "You should have woken me up. I should have woken up anyway."
"You did wake up, Horatio. I haven't been here two minutes." They both watched Rosalind sleep for a minute. "I just wanted to see her. Well, first, I wanted to see you, but you weren't hard to find." Calleigh shivered slightly, and he ran his hands up and down her bare arms. "How could she do that to her daughter, Horatio? That's what I don't understand. Her background didn't mean that she couldn't break the cycle."
He pulled her around to face him in the dim light. "I don't know. I can't understand it, either. Maybe Angie would have broken it, if she had lived. She would have had her chance, too." Calleigh buried herself against his strong chest, listening to his heart. The past was over for her. She knew that, but her heart still hurt for those who couldn't manage to shake off the chains and claim their right to their own lives, not with anger but with pure resolution. Or those who didn't live long enough to have that chance, like Angie.
Horatio held her tightly, her hair flowing over his arms. His own eyes looked over her head to Rosalind. He didn't say anything until he felt Calleigh start to relax. When he did speak, his smooth, warm voice seemed to reach even Rosalind. She didn't wake up, but she gave a tiny murmur and fell even deeper into secure dreams. "I've been thinking, Cal, about my question the other night. I think I have the answer."
As a distraction, it was effective. "What question?" she murmured into his chest.
"What's going on in the city tonight?"
She straightened up enough to face him. "You have the answer? Besides sleep, that is. I gave you that one."
His eyes gleamed in the dimly-lit room. "People are killing each other, and people are healing each other. They're hurting, and they're giving. There's pain, and joy, and tears. Anger in some places. Someone is giving birth, right now, even while someone else is dying. Life, Calleigh. That's what's going on in the city tonight, with all its beauty and ugliness. But I truly believe more people out there are loving than are killing."
Her answering kiss took his breath away.
(H/C)
Angie Carpenter.
Calleigh traced the inscribed words in the granite with her hand, then touched the too-close dates beneath. She held a single rose in her other hand. White, for innocence. She knelt and placed it on the grave. "You don't know me, Angie, but I just wanted to tell you something. Your mother was wrong. It wasn't your fault; it was hers. I wanted you to know that you could have been happy. Someday, if you'd gotten a little older, you would have had the choice of how to face life, no matter what anyone else did. I wanted to tell you, if you hadn't died, she couldn't have ruined your whole life for you. She could make it harder, but you still could have been happy. And there are good people in the world. People worth trusting." Calleigh stood and looked down at the grave, totally covered by grass at this point, then back at the name. There was an angel inscribed on the tombstone beside it. "I'm sorry you never had that opportunity. I guess you are happy now, though, aren't you?" She stood there for another minute, then turned and walked away, leaving the white rose lying on the grass.
(H/C)
"I knew this fence was a good idea." Horatio's voice was a low, sultry hum.
"Multipurpose," Calleigh agreed. She and Horatio were both in the pool, floating on their backs side by side, hands joined. It was September 25, their anniversary, and they had spent most of the day either in the pool or in only one of the deck chairs beside it, securely shielded from the world by the surrounding fence. The phone had been switched off, and they were blissfully alone. Rosalind would be picked up from daycare by Alexx and taken home with her for the night.
Calleigh reached her free hand across and ran it along Horatio's stomach, feeling the firm muscles ripple beneath her touch. "Horatio."
"Hmmm?" It was as much a purr as a response.
"Thank you. For everything."
He turned his head to face her. "Thank you, Cal. This last two years have been incredible. I wouldn't trade anything."
Calleigh considered that. "I might trade some of it."
He laughed. "I don't know. I'd be afraid to start taking things out. Might pull up a few good moments along with the bad ones."
"Couldn't have that, could we? I guess you're right, as always."
"Hardly always. One thing I know I'm right about, though."
"What's that?"
"You have the most beautiful hair in the world." He rolled over, fanning his fingers through it, loving the feel of it, even wet.
The sun suddenly turned shy, ducking behind a fast-approaching dark cloud, and Calleigh stared up at the sky. "I think we're about to finally get some rain." It had been threatening to rain off and on all day.
"Good."
"Good?"
"We needed a storm for the occasion. I proposed to you in a storm, remember?"
Her answer wasn't verbal, and it ended with both of them going under unexpectedly and coming up sputtering. Horatio laughed. "I think we either need to go to the shallow end or get back out. We're going to drown right here. Too many other things to think about to remember to keep my head above water."
Together, they paddled over to the ladder and climbed out, landing with a thud together on their deck chair just as the rain started. It poured down, a steady, soaking rain, refreshing the city. Already saturated with love, neither Horatio nor Calleigh noticed.
(H/C)
Next on CSI Miami: Fearful Symmetry: "Photo Finish." Much more than racing is going on at Gulfstream Park.