A/N: See chapter 1 for disclaimers, ratings, etc. This chapter is it for the next week as my schedule goes haywire, but there isn't much left on this story, maybe two chapters. I'll finish writing this story down as soon as I can. Everybody will probably like the next story in the series better – more emotion and angst, H/C family issues, and a bit less focus on case detail, although there is a case.

Somebody asked me this weekend for specific details on the Gettysburg music from the ride at the end of chapter 2, but there wasn't an email address to reply to. I made the Gettysburg freestyle by putting together three different sections of the movie soundtrack – Main Title, Battle of Little Round Top, and Fife and Gun. Then, it goes back to part of the Main Title for the conclusion. Since it's pieced together, you can't hear the exact complete freestyle music at any one point on the soundtrack. I didn't describe all of the ride in the story, either, just about the last half, and in a lot less detail than it has. For an idea of how the music matches the action, listen to Battle of Little Round Top at the very beginning. The light music is collected trot, very graceful and dancing, and then there is a sudden launch to extended trot, which is no faster but incredibly more powerful. That transition is clearly audible on the soundtrack at the first of the four main musical shifts in that piece. That's how dramatic a musical freestyle can be when the horse and rider are in total sync with the music (which doesn't always happen, granted). I wish you all could see it. Reading it doesn't do it justice.

(H/C)

"One picture is worth a thousand words."

Anonymous

(H/C)

Speed was buried in his equipment, shoulders hunched like drawn curtains to try to shield him from the world. Eric glanced at him several times as they worked on the evidence, then finally put the bottle he was processing down on the table and sat back. "So, you want to talk about it?"

Speed didn't look up. "About what?"

"The fight."

Speed did look up then. "What fight?"

"Come on, Speed. You might as well be a highway sign reading 'I had a fight with my girlfriend.' Trust me, I'm an expert on this. Been there, done that, survived so far. So, you want to talk about it?"

Speed straightened up to look at his friend fully. "Look, Delko, I don't know what you're talking about, but I have work to do if you don't." He turned back to the evidence.

"Not getting much of it done, are you? You've been processing the same thing for the last half hour." Eric stood up and went around the table in expert sympathy. "What did you do?"

"What makes you think it was my fault?"

"Statistics. Usually, if somebody screws up, it's the guy. Keep in mind, I have been there myself lots of times."

Speed dropped pretense, sitting back and abandoning the evidence. "I spent most of last night trying to figure out whose fault it was. I kept coming up with both of us."

Eric flinched. "That's a tough one. If both of you acted stupid, now you're stuck on who should apologize first."

"You really have been there, haven't you?"

"The voice of experience, no charge. What was the fight about?"

"I was on the shooting range practicing." Speed broke off as Eric feigned a choking fit. "Are you going to be serious or not?"

"Sorry." Eric dropped back into the picture of alert, serious attention, although the ghost of a grin remained around the edges.

"Anyway, Breeze started it by bringing me a pizza."

"I hate it when women do that."

Speed scowled at him. "I was taking a break, eating the pizza, and she picked up my service weapon and starting doing target practice. Trouble is, she was great at it."

Eric abruptly understood. "Better than you, huh?" His voice was purely sympathetic now, without a trace of sarcasm.

"Lots better. So I started taking practice again – I've got quals next week – and Breeze was trying to give me pointers."

"And you told her to stop comparing your skills to hers and just get lost."

"Exactly. Trouble is, she did. I didn't see her all last night. I had this apology all prepared, and nobody was home. But even if I overreacted, she shouldn't have made such a point of it."

Eric nodded. "Sounds like she could have handled it better. But so could you. She probably really was trying to help you get ready for the test, even if she didn't think about how it would sound."

"She does that. Doesn't always stop to think about things before she acts. Sure, it comes across wrong a few times, but she usually means well. Last night, though, it really got to me."

"What she said, or you being a worse shot than she is in the first place?"

Speed hesitated. "That's what I thought about all night. Yes, it bugs me how well she did. No practice, either. How would you feel?"

Eric shrugged. "So she's a better shot. So is Calleigh."

"That's different."

"I know. Calleigh's not your girlfriend. I've run into a few times when a woman beat me badly at something. What you've got to do is keep perspective, not get your ego tied up in it. She's got her talents, you've got yours. I'm sure you could beat her at some things."

"Like what?" Eric actually hesitated, conjuring up a mental list of Breeze's qualifications. "Now, you see the problem. Everything I do, she does better. She rides a bike better than I do, for instance. She even keeps a sloppier apartment than I do. So the things I do people don't like, she's even got me beat there."

"You're a better CSI."

"She's never tried. She'd probably beat me at that, too."

Eric shook his head. "You can testify in court. You can nail down the evidence on a case so tight a criminal can't wiggle out." Speed didn't look convinced. Eric switched tactics. "So obviously, if your girlfriend is getting you this down on yourself, you need to just break up with her. She's a loser. Time to cut your losses and move on."

That got the strongest reaction yet. "I don't want to. And she isn't a loser. I've never found anybody until her that could put up with me and act like she was enjoying it."

Eric flinched on the word act. "I think she meant it, Speed. No woman who isn't serious stays around for over a year. Believe me. I'm an expert on this, remember? You've got me beat, though. You've outlasted my longest relationship by a mile. So that's something you've turned out to be good at."

Speed half smiled. "Or maybe it's something she's good at."

"Or maybe it's something you're good at together. Look, what you've got to do is apologize to her."

"But I think it was her fault. As much as mine, anyway."

"Doesn't matter. Who apologized last time you had a fight?"

Speed had to think about it. "I did. We haven't had one this big yet, though."

Eric was impressed. "You really are good at this. I mean it. Anyway, the thing about apologizing is that the man is supposed to do it at least 80 of the time, regardless of fault."

"Are you serious?"

"Works for me." Eric grinned like the Cheshire cat. "At least, the women like it. Anyway, if you apologized, I'm sure she would."

"Hard at work, gentlemen?" Horatio glided into the lab like a silent panther, and both of the younger men jumped. Horatio's dancing eyes made the supervisory tone of the comment meaningless. He was obviously in a good mood today. Of course, he probably had a good night last night, Speed decided. He and Calleigh hadn't been fighting.

Eric dropped back into professionalism. "I've been running this DMSO, comparing the samples. It's just DMSO, H. Nothing else." His tone was notably devoid of failure.

"But you didn't stop there," Horatio stated.

"Right. I got a sample from that toothbrush. DMSO plus penicillin. Alexx tested for penicillin in the body and found it."

"And Pete was allergic to penicillin," Horatio filled in. "I've got the notebook of medical allergies and conditions from Duncan. It was in plain sight and clearly marked. Valera is copying it, and then you can run fingerprints." He set the bagged penicillin bottles on the table. "Print these bottles, too. Any prints on the toothbrush and the DMSO bottle?"

Speed spoke up. "Pete's on the toothbrush. Somebody else's but not Pete's on the DMSO bottle, which proves Pete didn't use that one yesterday morning. The killer switched bottles."

Horatio nodded, thinking it through. "He got there just a few minutes early. Probably everyone else went to their horses first thing in the morning, so he'd have a minute to duck into the tack room. He wasn't expecting it to look like murder, just planned on a quick bottle switch and grabbing the film. Only Ramon must have seen him as he came back out. It's time I had another conversation with Ramon."

"We can print all the grooms, too," Eric suggested.

"Right. Anything more on the light bulb you found yesterday?"

"Just a few film traces," Speed said. "No prints. He didn't touch it, just held the film up to it."

"And we found the film and the bulb in Ramon's room at the dorm. No film box anywhere." Horatio considered it. "The killer was scared himself and in a hurry. He had to get from the barn to the dorm, plant the film, and get back to the barn before he was missed. Speed, did you find any DMSO bottles in the dorm?"

"Not in the trash cans. I didn't do a thorough search of the rooms. I was just looking for film."

"I wondered about the other rooms at first, but now I don't think the killer went anywhere but Ramon's room and back to the barn. He would have been rattled, making it up as he went along. He didn't expect Pete to fall on that hook. I'd say, if the DMSO bottle with the penicillin wasn't in Ramon's room, it's in a dumpster along the route between the barn and the dorm." Horatio pulled out his cell phone. "Mr. Wallace, Horatio Caine. What days do you have trash pickup?" He listened, then smiled. "Thank you." He snapped the phone shut. "We're in luck. Trash was picked up the day before the murder and will be again tomorrow. Speed, I want you to go back to Gulfstream and search the dumpsters along that route. Get any DMSO bottles. If we can match prints from the dosed DMSO to the penicillin bottles, we've got him. We already know he wasn't wearing gloves, because his prints are on the switched bottle. He didn't expect a murder investigation when he was setting this up."

Speed sighed. "Why do I always get stuck fishing through dumpsters?"

Eric suddenly grinned. "Hey, Speedle, there's one of your talents." Speed groaned, and Horatio looked confused. Eric quickly asked his boss a question before Speed could get out of the room. "Wait a second, Speed. H, the last time you had a fight with Calleigh, who apologized first?"

Horatio hesitated, thinking it through. "I honestly don't remember. Probably I did."

Speed eyed him. "You have had fights with Calleigh, haven't you?"

"Yes. Sometimes. I just can't remember what they were about."

"Boy, you're a lot of help," Eric stated.

"Sorry," Horatio replied. "Well, we do have work to get done around here. Eric, you're processing the penicillin and the notebook when Valera brings it over, and Speed, you're working the dumpsters. I'll be with Calleigh." He started out of the lab, then hesitated in the doorway. "Oh, and Speed, whatever happened, I'd recommend that you apologize to Breeze first." He headed with unhurried efficiency toward the photo lab, leaving both Eric and Speed staring after him.

"How did he. . ." Speed started, then trailed off.

Eric gave up on it. "I don't know. He's good." He shook his head admiringly. "Better get moving, Speed. Your dumpsters await."

"Shut up." Speed was almost out of the door when he added, softly, "And thanks."

"Anytime," Eric replied.

(H/C)

Calleigh was sitting in front of the photo lab computer. The screen had all pictures from Pete's previous rolls of film, and the photo log was on the table. Calleigh had been over these shots all morning, several times, trying to see past the subject and the excellent composition into the background. She kept coming back to the same shot, and she didn't know why. Not knowing why she did something always annoyed her, at work or anything else in life.

Horatio stopped in the door, watching her for a few unguarded seconds. She was deeply in concentration and hadn't noticed him yet. The lower lip was tucked in slightly, the chin jutting in determination. The focus of her eyes should have drilled bullet holes in the computer screen. He smiled fondly, and she abruptly felt him and jumped slightly, not surprised by his appearance but surprised that she hadn't noticed it sooner. "Hey, Handsome."

"Hey, yourself." His rich voice wrapped around the greeting, almost like a verbal hug. "So, what have we got?"

She slid over on the chair to make room for him to share it, and he joined her in front of the computer. "Look at this shot." She enlarged it on the screen, focused on the top corner behind the horse, then enlarged that section again. "See these two men having a conversation here? I keep thinking I know one of them, but I can't pin it down."

Horatio tilted his head for a better perspective. Looking at things literally from a different angle helped him fit the pieces together mentally sometimes. "The one on the left."

"Exactly. Where have we seen him before?"

"I can't quite place it. He does look familiar, though." His frustration was better concealed than hers but no less present. "Does anything else jump out at you from the other pictures?"

"Only that Pete was a good photographer. It's this one, Horatio, if it's any of them. I tried comparing it to the log, too, but I can't match it to anything from that last roll of film. The titles Pete gave them aren't any help."

"He probably never knew himself." Horatio shook his head. "Such a waste of a life, and he didn't even realize whatever it was that got him killed." They took a few seconds to salute the memory of the victim in mutual silence, and then Horatio returned his focus to the picture. "It's an innocent-looking conversation. Let's print off a copy of this one. I'll see if Randy can identify the man on the right. It's probably one of his grooms."

Calleigh noted the name change. "Randy? Is he off the hook, then?" Horatio often referred to criminals by their first names but with deadly politeness, never true warmth.

"Yes." He gave her a synopsis of Randy's problems, and Calleigh was lost in sympathy herself by the time he finished. "You okay?" He had caught the wistfulness in her eyes.

"I was just remembering, as a kid, I used to think that if my parents had just been different, had been normal, loving, caring people, I wouldn't ever have any problems in life, family or otherwise."

His smile was full of regretful understanding. "I used to think that if all my family had just been still alive, I wouldn't have any problems in life, family or otherwise. That was a long time ago, though."

"Me, too."

He reached out and touched her cheek gently, sadly. "At least I've got good memories. Randy and his mother have good memories."

"I do have good memories," Calleigh assured him. "And I'm adding to them all the time."

"As am I," he replied, and that incomparable voice again embraced her. His arms followed it this time, and their lips had just found each other when a throat cleared behind them.

"I, um, finished the copies," Valera said, offering Horatio an envelope. "Sorry, but you did say you wanted them as quickly as possible."

"Thank you, Valera," Horatio replied, refusing to be embarrassed. "Does Eric have the notebook?"

"Just handed it to him."

"Great. Calleigh and I are going back to Gulfstream Park." He turned back to the computer, printing off a copy of the picture in question. "Here's what you do. Compare the man on the left here to all the wanted pictures you can find. We've seen him somewhere."

"You've got it, boss." Calleigh and Horatio stood in unison, and Valera took the chair. It was pleasantly warm from the two bodies, and Valera was smiling to herself as she started to compare pictures.

(H/C)

The Hummer parked next to its twin outside the barn. "Wonder how Speed's getting along," Horatio commented, but he was already heading into the barn as he said it. Speed would contact him with anything important, and the conversation with Ramon was much more urgent than checking up on a trusted team member.

The barn was half deserted at this hour, morning workouts over, afternoon races not yet begun. The traffic had died to a trickle. Ramon was sitting on an overturned bucket outside Silver Lining's stall, carefully cleaning a bridle. The horse had his head out over the webbing of the stall door guard, almost touching his groom's shoulder with his nose, as if he were supervising his work. Horatio and Calleigh had discussed this interview on the way from CSI and had decided to let Calleigh take the lead. Ramon might find a woman easier to connect with, since they knew his father was dead and that he sent money back to his mother. Calleigh approached him now, and Horatio fell back a few steps. "Ramon? Can I talk to you for a minute?" she asked in Spanish. The groom looked up from the leather straps, his eyes traveling over the badge, the gun, and then the face. He tensed up but nodded. Calleigh pulled up another bucket, turned it over, and sat down next to him. Horatio melted into the wall about ten feet away, removing himself completely from the conversation.

Calleigh started gently. "What's your mother's name, Ramon?"

"Maria," he said softly.

"What about your brothers?"

"One brother, one sister. Both younger."

"Randy said your father had died. How old were you then, Ramon?"

"Fifteen." His chin came up with fierce pride. "My brother was three, my sister one. I was the man of the house."

"And you helped your mother." He nodded. "You still help her, don't you? You send her your money." He hesitated, suddenly tensing up again. Calleigh decided to jump to the heart of the matter, since he was already there ahead of her. "Ramon, yesterday morning, you saw someone leaving the tack room right before you went in, didn't you? And he realized that you had seen him. So as soon as he got a chance, he threatened your family, didn't he? What did he say to you, Ramon?"

The groom was staring down at the bridle straps in his hands, unwilling to meet her eyes. It was Silver Lining who broke the moment. He abruptly reached across the webbing and took a mouthful of Calleigh's long, blonde hair, chewing thoughtfully. "Hey!" She whirled around, extricating herself, and Ramon laughed.

"Hay," he repeated in English. "To him, looks like hay." He switched back into Spanish, scolding the horse but with his dark eyes twinkling. "He's right, you know." Horatio, leaning against the wall, bit his lip to hold the laughter safely in. He didn't want to remind Ramon of his presence.

Calleigh combed the wet, matted strands out with her fingers and resisted the impulse to forget about this interview, this whole investigation, and make a beeline for a shower. Ramon was smiling as he watched her. She gave up on her hair for the moment and removed the picture from the envelope. "Ramon, is this the man?"

Ramon's smile froze, then shattered. His eyes went to the horse, who was still alertly watching them. He could not lie to this woman in front of his horse. Slowly, he nodded. Calleigh waited patiently, and he finally spoke, still softly. "He said he knew where they lived. He said if I told anyone, they would pay, that no one was there to protect them."

"He was lying," Calleigh said firmly. "The best way to protect them is getting him out of circulation. Trust me, Ramon, he was scared himself, and he was just saying the first thing he thought of to keep you quiet. He didn't have that kind of planning behind this. It was an empty threat."

"I didn't think about him at first," Ramon said. "I saw Pete, and I was shocked. I wasn't thinking. And before I could start to think about him leaving the tack room, he came to me, while we were waiting for the police." He frowned. "No blood, though. He didn't have blood on him."

"He never touched Pete. The hay hook wasn't how he killed him."

"Then who hit him with the hook?"

"Pete fell on it. The killer was trying to poison him quietly. He never wanted it to look like murder at all." Calleigh leaned in a little closer, keeping a wary eye on the horse. "Ramon, what is his name?"

"Juan. He's one of the other grooms."

"Do you know this other man in the picture, the one Juan is talking to?"

"No."

Calleigh stood. "Thank you, Ramon. You have my word, nothing will happen to your family." She turned away, and Horatio joined her as they walked down the aisle. "We've got him. Prints plus Ramon's ID."

He nodded. "We still don't know the other man or the motive, what they were planning, but maybe Juan can tell us. His plans didn't work out. He'll be scrambling. It's time we had a talk with him." He recognized the assistant trainer in front of one of the other stalls. "Excuse me. Ben, isn't it? Could you tell us where we could find Juan?"

Ben respectfully straightened up at the sight of the badges. "I think he went over to the track kitchen for lunch." He walked to the far end of the barn with them, pointing out the route from the open doorway.

"Thank you," Horatio replied. He and Calleigh started walking toward the kitchen. Horatio noted Meg and Charles Donovan, along with Randy, standing in a group near a small patch of grass ahead, watching a pretty bay mare with a white blaze cropping at the grass. They all three smiled at him, and he smiled back.

"H!" Speed's voice came from behind him, and Horatio and Calleigh both spun around. Speed was just coming out of the barn aisle. "Found it!"

Horatio and Calleigh retreated, joining him just outside the barn. "The DMSO bottle?"

"And the film box. Both in a dumpster along the route from here to the dorm. I just locked them in the Hummer and saw that you were here, too."

"Nice work, Speed. Our suspect not only has fingerprints, now he has a name. We were just about to find him."

Speed, Calleigh, and Horatio had just started out of the barn toward the track kitchen again when Ben's voice hailed them. "Lieutenant Caine! There's Juan now, just coming back. He's the one you wanted to talk to."

Juan heard. Juan bolted, wheeling around and fleeing like a startled deer, racing back in the direction he had come. The CSIs gave chase, but the race ended within just a few yards. Charles Donovan, ex-FBI agent, 6 foot 4 and still athletic at 76, planted himself like a tree in the path, and Juan, looking back over his shoulder, ran straight into him. Charles pinned his hands effortlessly behind his back as he twisted him around, holding him as easily as if he had been handcuffed. "This the murdering son-of-a-bitch you're looking for, Horatio?"

"I believe so," Horatio replied. "Thank you."

"Anytime. You got handcuffs, or should I just hold him while we wait for backup?"

"Why don't you just hold him? Speed, call Adele, would you? Juan, you're under arrest for murder. That's just at the moment; I'm sure we'll find other things to add to it. Do you want to tell us the rest, or should we work it out from the evidence? We will work it out, I assure you."

Juan stared at him with the helpless expression of someone who has seen all of his plans crumble into dust. "I know my rights," he mumbled. "I have the right to remain silent."

"That," Horatio replied, "would be the first intelligent decision you've made in the last two days."

Meg Donovan marched over to face him, her carefully-styled white hair making her look like the stereotypical idea of a grandmother. An angry grandmother. "I have the right to speak up, though. In 30 years of hearing cases secondhand from Charles, I've always wanted the chance to tell a murderer face to face what I thought of him. This is my golden opportunity." She came so close to Juan that he cringed, shrinking away from her, and her husband firmly held him upright. "You despicable excuse for a human being. Shame on you. Who gave you the right over other people's lives? Who gave you the right to hurt so many families and friends? Did you actually think for one second you would get away with it?"

She was still going strong ten minutes later when backup arrived.