A/N and Disclaimer: Sorry for the long delay between chapters. We had a death in the family and several other things to deal with, and then my new computer threw a fit, and it took me a few days to get it thoroughly spanked. Welcome to the several new fans of the series; your feedback the last month has been a needed lift for me. With so many of the new readers commenting (positively) on how different FS is from the show, this is an opportune moment to throw in a disclaimer that applies now to all fanfic by me. The H/C list already knows this, but readers from other sites don't. After giving TPTB a year and a half worth of probation with weekly feedback which was ignored, I am no longer watching CSIM: The Soap Opera. I haven't watched since halfway through the season 3 episode Recoil, and I can't imagine anything that would tempt me to watch again in the future short of the replacement of Ann Donahue. The reasons have nothing to do with any specific ship or character but with the entire handling of the show; if you want to know detailed reasons, read the Declaration of Independence in my short story Revolution. The result is that my writing no longer even pretends to be inspired by or based on the current version of CSIM. Also, you may find discrepancies just because I'm not up to date and also because I no longer have past episodes on tape to which to refer. I haven't seen any new characters, new background information on characters, complete background transplants on characters, complete personality transplants on characters, etc. I'm not planning to stop the fanfic at this point, though my muse is completely beyond my control, but my fic is permanently based out of season 1. I have divorced this show due to irreconcilable differences, and I retain custody of my stories.
That said, enjoy Swan Song, which in no way relates to anything you see currently on TV Monday nights.
(H/C)
"If you would comfort me, sing me a lullaby.
If you would win my heart, sing me a love song.
If you would mourn me and bring me to God,
Sing me a requiem. Sing me to heaven."
Sing Me to Heaven, Gawthorp
(H/C)
"Come on!" Speed muttered under his breath. The tiny device he was analyzing apparently refused to listen. He hadn't really expected it to.
"Speed." Horatio's approach was soundless as always, but the tone of his voice brought the trace expert to almost attention. "Making any progress?"
Speed analyzed Horatio's expression quickly and answered without a trace of sarcasm. "Nothing new, H. I'm trying to match the partial on this bug we found on Sarah's phone, but it's too small to give me much. There's nothing we didn't already know on the rest of the evidence from the break-in at her house. Other than in the bathroom and maybe in handling this bug, Sanchez wore gloves."
"Could the print from the bug match Sanchez?"
"Yes, but it could match a lot of other people, too. There's not enough there to work with, really. He was holding it by the edges. Just a fraction of a print on each side. If he had a partner, it could be his print just as well."
Horatio extracted the evidence envelope from his jacket. "See what you can get from this. It looks more promising."
"You got it." He was addressing his supervisor's rapidly retreating back. Horatio was already heading for the stairs to his office. Speed opened the envelope and dumped the necklace out onto the table. So this was the famous necklace. With as much hope as he ever let himself feel in any one piece of evidence, he put the bug aside in its own envelope and got to work.
(H/C)
Horatio opened the door to his office and stopped briefly halfway through. Chris, head of the night shift at CSI, was sitting in the chair in front of his desk, obviously waiting. "Chris. You got off an hour ago. You could have left me a report, you know."
"I thought you'd want this one direct."
Horatio nodded with a half smile of thanks. He smoothly walked around the desk and dropped into his own chair. "Let me have it. Overview. I'll get more details from Delko."
"He showed up there just as I was leaving. My people were briefing him." On a crime that occurred on one shift but had connections, as this one was assumed to have, with another, it was common to have people from both shifts working the evidence in turn, handing off like a skilled relay team. Chris took a minute to collect his thoughts and then started. "We think the perp slipped into the church during rehearsal and hid. That's a pretty good lock and security system they have; it wouldn't be easy to get in once it was activated. Once he thought people had left, he went into the auditorium and started to search at the front. Schaeffer walked in on him. Schaeffer was about halfway down the auditorium. He had apparently come in the back door and was walking down the aisle when he was shot. One shot to the heart, 9 mil." Horatio shifted slightly, and Chris anticipated the question. "I know, the autopsy hasn't been done yet, so we don't have the bullet, but the gun was still there. I'm assuming it was the same one. It had recently been fired."
Horatio's eyebrow quirked slightly. "He left the gun?"
"Something spooked him, H. It was like two crime scenes. The perp was at the front at first, between the pews, and he stepped to the center and shot Schaeffer in the chest while looking straight at him. Cold-blooded. Then he walked up to the body, still holding the gun, and bent over him. Then, judging from where the gun was and the carpet impressions, he suddenly dropped the gun, charged out of there so fast that he actually knocked one of the pews slightly off center, bolted out of the auditorium, knocking over a plant stand in the foyer, and got the hell out. He left his gun, a flashlight, and also dropped a cell phone on the dash up the aisle."
"A cell phone," Horatio mused, stretching out the syllables into a complete identity and address for the perp.
Chris shook his head. "Prepaid. We ran it. No contract, address listed when it was activated fake. You can refill them with cash at the wireless stores."
"But possibly still useful in call records."
"Yes. I brought several things back, including the gun for Calleigh."
Horatio's head tilted slightly. "So this man shot Tom in cold blood," – Chris noted the use of the first name but didn't comment – "calmly walked up the aisle to his body, bent over it, then panicked."
"Right."
Horatio closed his eyes for a moment, visualizing the church. "Are the photos developed yet?"
"Not yet. We were just finishing the initial photos and documenting the scene. There's so much there, we were going slowly. The plant, the door, the gun, the phone. Wonder what could make him run like that. It wasn't the killing. He walked to the body first, perfectly steady by the carpet tracks."
"Any signs of a second perp?"
"None. Of course, he might not have left in such a panic, but the carpet took footprints really easily. I think we would have seen tracks from two perps. There was a whole group of people there that night, obviously, but they stayed in the center of the aisle for the most part. This man was looking all over, and he walked up the very edge of the aisle. His prints clearly went up to the body, and he actually stepped in some blood at that point, so we know those prints went with the perp. Backtracking those shoes from the body, before the blood, I think he was in between two of the front pews when he heard Schaeffer and came out. There were clear tracks for those first few rows. Looking for something carefully, systematically." Chris shrugged. "And then totally panicked, never finished his search, and bolted. Like I said, it was like two different perps in one."
Horatio nodded. "Whatever spooked him, it will make him easier to catch. Thank you, Chris. Let me have the evidence, and you go home and get some sleep."
Chris stood and handed over the envelopes. Looking at the fire in Horatio's eyes, he somehow didn't think this case would still be unsolved when he arrived at CSI again that night.
(H/C)
Calleigh studied the body on Alexx's table. 50 years. He would have been married for 50 years tomorrow. It personalized him, making it harder to watch somehow. She looked back up at Alexx, distracting herself. "Any sign of other wounds?"
"No. One's all it takes. He never had a chance. Poor man." The ME addressed the body as she washed the blood off his chest. "Walked into something that didn't even involve you. Are you okay, honey?"
Calleigh didn't even try to deny that anything was wrong. "It's just harder to watch this one somehow. He would have been married 50 years tomorrow."
Alexx stopped, jolted herself. "Poor man. Poor woman. Is anyone with her?"
Calleigh nodded. "Some good friends are over there now." Her eyes strayed back to the body, as much as she was trying not to focus on it. "Horatio said he wrote a song for his wife. An anniversary song. He was going to conduct it at the concert tomorrow." Alexx winced. "I'm glad Horatio isn't down here. It would be even harder for him. He had to be one of the last people who talked to Tom. He was at the rehearsal last night, you know."
Alexx nodded. "Where is he?"
"He went up to his office to see if Chris had left a preliminary report on the scene. Alexx, how did Horatio handle that trial last week?"
Alexx looked up at her, suddenly switching her analysis from the dead to the living. "It wasn't easy on him. He was on the stand for two complete days. But the trial went well, and the defense attorney didn't shake him. Horatio was confident in the verdict, even before it came in. So I'd call it stressful but closure, too. Justice done on a difficult case. Why do you ask?"
"I'm not sure, but he just seems like something's bothering him lately, a little stressed out. Now, of course, he's blaming himself for Tom, but even before this case got so intense, he's seemed a bit edgy this week. He hasn't talked about it, but I'll be glad when he can get a vacation himself. I think he needs one." Calleigh broke off with an annoyed edge to her voice. "What's so funny?"
Alexx choked the laughter back. "I'm sorry, sugar. I'm just surprised you hadn't worked it out yourself. Then again, maybe I'm not."
"Worked what out?" The annoyance was rising.
"It isn't the trial, Calleigh. Yes, he's a bit stressed at the moment, but by far the most stressful thing that's happened to him the last week is the possibility of losing you and Rosalind in that wreck Monday night."
Calleigh's mouth dropped open, then slowly shut. "I can't believe I hadn't thought of that."
Alexx smiled at her. "You underrate yourself, Calleigh. You're worth caring about. Horatio is just a bit jolted at the moment, but more grateful than ever of what he has, too. As for why he hasn't discussed it with you, you ought to be able to answer that one yourself."
Calleigh nodded. "Because I was shaken up myself, and he didn't want to add anything more to what I was dealing with."
"Bull's eye." Alexx's gloved hands were busy, but she touched Calleigh with her smile. "He'll be fine, Calleigh. I'm not saying he doesn't need a vacation; he needed one even before the trial or the wreck. But what he needs most is just days of being a family, convincing himself it's still there. And how are you doing?"
"Better. I can drive, at least. We're going shopping for a new car this weekend." Her voice trailed off for a minute. "Maybe. I don't think Horatio's going to stop working on this one until it's solved. It's personal now."
Alexx nodded. "Let's hope it's cleared up quickly. For him, for you, and for that poor wife." She extracted the bullet with the forceps. "There you are. Go get him."
Calleigh held out the container, and Alexx dropped the bullet in. "We will. Thanks, Alexx. For everything."
Alexx smiled at her. "Just doing my job." She did feel like the unpaid counselor for CSI at times, but she wouldn't have wanted to give up that role any more than her official one. Calleigh walked out of the room with determination but with a lighter step than when she had entered, and Alexx turned her attention back to the body of Thomas Schaeffer, who would have been married 50 years tomorrow. She squeezed her eyes shut for a minute in gratitude for her own family, then blinked back the tears and picked up the scalpel again. "Just doing my job." Crooning reassuringly to the body, she resumed her task.
(H/C)
By late morning, Speed was getting more and more frustrated. Chemical analysis. Super glue. Trace. Checking for prints, even though cut stones were a horrible surface to retain them. He'd tried everything he could think of so far on this necklace, and the sum total of his findings was that it had traces of squashed M & Ms on one stone, undoubtedly a contribution from Matt. With a sigh, Speed stared at the necklace laying on the lab table and the evidence envelope next to it. The lawyers were going to love the chain of custody on this one. That was assuming it was worth taking into court in the first place. This necklace had been worth killing for; why wasn't it worth analyzing? He scowled at the uncooperative necklace, then suddenly stopped as a thought tickled the back of his mind. Quickly moving to the other files from the case, he pulled out Eric's original photos from the convention center, finding the picture found in Sam's room. Once it was put side by side with the original, the slight difference jumped out at him.
"Speed, what have you got?" Horatio materialized from thin air behind him, and Speed jumped. He turned to face his supervisor.
"Nothing so far, H. There is absolutely nothing remarkable about this necklace. It's just fancy rocks."
Calleigh, at Horatio's side, looked at him in disbelief. "Nothing?"
"Nothing. And that's because this isn't quite the one the perp was after. Look." He moved aside so they could all see the necklace and the picture laid out on the table.
"It's the same heart pendant on a slightly different chain," Calleigh said quickly.
Horatio nodded. "Sarah said there was something different about the picture, but she couldn't pin it down. I'll bet Sam switched the chains when he exchanged necklaces. He liked this chain better than the original. He probably noted buying a chain along with the new necklace in the missing sales log, but the perp didn't think anything of it, and we never saw that ledger. This perp is a middleman. He was sent after a necklace, probably didn't know exactly what was special about it himself." He turned to Speed. "You know what's next."
"Road trip," the trace expert grumbled. "Back to the jewelry store, and then try to find the original chain in all that. A whole afternoon looking at jewelry. Sure you don't want this assignment, Calleigh?"
Horatio gave him a thin smile. "Look at it this way, the DA will be a lot happier with chain of evidence. The jewelry store is still sealed up."
Speed wasn't consoled. "So not only did I waste my time first thing this morning on that bug, I wasted the rest of the morning on this necklace, and neither one of them is good for anything in this case."
Horatio's expression changed suddenly. "Actually, you're wrong. I think between them, they might have solved it." He quickly picked up the necklace, replaced it in its envelope, then sorted through the other envelopes to find the one containing the bug. "Come on, Cal. It's time to take this one off the streets." He spun smoothly and left the lab with Calleigh hurrying after him. Speed was left staring at the photo. With a sigh, he picked it up and headed out to spend the afternoon looking at jewelry.
(H/C)
Sarah sat next to Sam's bedside, his hand in hers. She moved her fingers slightly up his wrist to feel the current of the river of life. Such a thin flutter, so small to be the difference between life and death. Around her, the instruments beeped reassuringly, but she trusted the evidence beneath her fingers more. Sam was still with her. Not like Tom.
Tears welled up again in her eyes, and she blinked them back. It shouldn't happen that someone could be real and with you one evening, then suddenly dead a few hours later. A wave of fury against the criminal welled up in her, almost overpowering the guilt. Horatio would catch him, but nothing would be undone, and somehow, at the root of it, she knew that the events of this week had been her fault. If she hadn't let her cell phone run down Monday, none of this would have happened. Sam would be talking and laughing with her instead of lying white and silent in the ICU, and Tom would be conducting Circle of Starlight tomorrow for Lynella.
By long habit, her mind sought expression, if not comfort, through music, and she started singing very softly. The girl in the next cubicle had improved and had been moved out of the ICU, and Sam was unresponsive as ever. Sarah was singing now just for herself.
"If you would comfort me, sing me a lullaby.
If you would win my heart, sing me a love song.
If you would mourn me and bring me to God,
Sing me a requiem. Sing me to heaven."
Thinking of Tom and Lynella, her voice broke and trailed off, and the tears slid silently down her face. She bent her head, trying to hide them from the guards at the door. She didn't even feel the fingers move in her own until the second squeeze.
"Don't stop."
Her head snapped up, and her watery gaze met Sam's eyes, open and slightly blurry and confused but concerned. "What's wrong, Sarah? Why did you stop singing?"
"Sam!" She quickly reached over to push the nurse call. "Are you okay? How do you feel?"
A slight frown creased his bandaged forehead. "Tired. I've got a headache. What's wrong, Sarah?"
She wiped the tears from her eyes as the nurse entered the room. "Nothing. Everything is going to be okay now." She was lying, and they both knew it. Twins cannot lie to each other.
The nurse bent over Sam, checking his pupils, asking questions, and Sarah held tightly to his hand. Her prayers had been answered, but what about Lynella's? She fought back a fresh wave of tears, and Sam kept looking back toward her instead of focusing on the disapproving nurse. The nurse finally left to page the doctor, and Sarah scooted her chair closer to Sam's bedside. "What happened, Sarah?" His voice was weak but persistent.
"You were in a car accident. Don't you remember that?"
He shook his head, then winced at the motion. "No. Was anybody else hurt?"
She pushed back the thought of Tom. He was asking about the accident, not the week. "No. The other people involved are fine."
"There was something I needed to tell you, but I can't quite remember. It was important." His eyes were falling shut again.
"It's okay, Sam," she reassured him. "Your message got through. It's okay."
"Why are you so sad?" His eyes were completely closed now.
"I'll tell you later, okay? You need to rest. You really were hurt badly."
He reluctantly accepted the postponement. "Sing to me. I heard you singing to me a few times, but I couldn't seem to open my eyes." He opened them again. "I heard you, though. I heard your music."
She smiled at him. "Okay. I'll sing then if you rest." She picked up the song where she had left off, emotions warring in her, thoughts of Sam in a tug-of-war with thoughts of Tom, the song easily expressing both.
"Touch in me grief and comfort,
Love and passion, pain and pleasure.
Sing me a lullaby, a love song, a requiem.
Love me, comfort me, bring me to God.
Sing me to heaven."
"Beautiful," came a soft voice from the doorway, and Sarah jumped.
"Oh, hi, Horatio. Hi, Calleigh. I didn't hear you come in."
They came up to the other side of the bed, looking at Sam. "How is he today?"
"A lot better. He even woke up for a few minutes. I was just singing him back to sleep." Her eyes locked with theirs, making it a direct communication. "He's a little foggy on what happened in the wreck and before, though. He just knew it was something important. I told him the message had been delivered."
The message was delivered loud and clear, and Horatio didn't go on to discuss details of the case in front of Sam, even if he seemed to be sleeping. "Could I talk to you outside for a few minutes, Sarah? You could probably use a break, and I think you might be able to help us."
"Anything I can do. Just a minute; let me tell Sam." She shook his shoulder gently. "Sam? Sam, can you wake up a minute for me?" Slowly, the eyes opened. "I'm going to take a break now that I know you're better, okay? I'm going for a cup of coffee with some friends, but I'll be back soon to see you again."
His slightly out-of-focus eyes tracked from her to Horatio and Calleigh. He didn't recognize them. "They're friends?"
"Good friends." That wasn't a lie, and he took her word for it.
"Okay. Take care of yourself. See you later." His eyelids dropped closed again.
Sarah gave his hand a final squeeze and stood up. Horatio nodded to her guard at the door, and the guard ambled off for a break himself. Sarah followed Horatio and Calleigh to a quiet corner of the hall outside the ICU, and there, Horatio laid out his plan.
(H/C)
"Hi, Maria." Sarah wondered if her voice was too bright and forced, and she looked uncertainly at Horatio and Calleigh. They smiled at her reassuringly. "I've got great news. Sam woke up late this morning. It looks like he's going to be okay."
Maria's initial surprise at her friend's tone evaporated. "That's great, Sarah. Really. I'm happy for you. Um, you did hear about Tom, right?"
"Yes." Sarah's tone fell flat. "I can't believe it. The police think he surprised some random burglar when he went back in." Maria hesitated, and Sarah pushed on. "There have been a lot of burglaries lately, and there might be valuable things left in a church. Tom was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. That's their theory, anyway. By the way, the police think the break-in at my place was just a burglar looking for anything, too. I'm back home now. I found my necklace, too. I'd just misplaced it somewhere. You know me. Sam always says I'd lose my head if it wasn't attached."
"Are you all right, Sarah? You sound a bit . . ."
Sarah cut Maria off before she could finish. "It's just been a stressful day, with Tom and all. Stressful week. Like I said, I'm home now, and now that I know Sam is okay, I think I'll just go to bed and sleep for hours."
"Good idea; you probably need it. I'm really glad about Sam, Sarah. Let me know if you need anything, okay?"
"I will. Thanks, Maria. See you tomorrow at the concert."
"See you then. Bye."
Sarah hung up the phone and looked at Horatio with concern. "Was that okay?"
"Wonderful," he said. "You got everything in there that we wanted."
"Are you sure this bug can't hear us now?"
"No, it's just activated when the phone is picked up. There's probably a receiver and booster in a tree outside, but we never got down to looking for it. It will broadcast the signal on to somewhere, and hopefully, we'll have company soon."
"He might not come right away. He might wait until night."
"I think he'll come as soon as he hears that call. He did tackle you in daylight at the hospital, and he thinks you'll be alone and asleep this afternoon. I think he's under pressure from whoever wants the necklace, and he's also spooked for whatever reason from last night. He's in the perfect frame of mind to think that maybe he did just miss the necklace searching here and maybe there could be a quick end to this."
"Meanwhile," Calleigh said, "let's eat these sandwiches we picked up. It's past lunch time." Horatio and Sarah both looked at her blankly, like eating was a foreign concept. "Sit. Both of you." They sat in Sarah's bedroom and ate the sandwiches silently. Sarah fingered the necklace, which she was wearing, and the silence lengthened along with their wait.
"You know," Horatio speculated, "since it must be the chain that matters, the big mistake this week was by Sanchez overlooking the original chain at the jewelry store. You losing the necklace didn't make any difference. It was his mistake that changed the week."
"He might have discovered the mistake faster," Sarah insisted. "And then Tom would still be alive."
Calleigh firmly stepped into the middle of this before Horatio could blame himself again for leading the perp to the church. "You two are quite a set, you know it? The reason Tom is dead and everything that's happened this week happened is because some men are criminals and have no morals or regard for life. Nothing either one of you ever do is going to change that fact."
Sarah considered it for a minute. "You saved me, though," she said. "They would have killed me this week if it hadn't been for you. Thanks, both of you."
Horatio smiled at her. "Just doing our jobs. It is nice to know you make a difference now and then, though. And you're right, Cal. We can't be responsible for what the criminals do." Calleigh hoped he was addressing himself as well as Sarah, but she wasn't sure.
Horatio's cell phone rang, and he answered it. "Horatio. Okay, Tripp. We're ready." He pushed the end button and smoothly pulled his gun from its holster. "Tripp just heard from the officers hiding at the end of the street. Sanchez just entered the block. Tripp's in position in the back. Sarah, stay clear and don't come out until I call you." Sarah retreated into the closet, and Horatio and Calleigh took up positions on either side of the door. In the bed, a roll of pillows and blankets simulated a human form.
There was a scratch from the front door, like a large rat gnawing, and then footsteps approached. Soft but quick and not-quite-steady footsteps, accompanied by quick and not-quite-steady breathing. Sanchez hesitated at the bedroom doorway, eyes quickly finding the form under the covers. His breath released in a hiss of satisfaction, and he slipped forward, hand going to his pocket. He never made it. Two guns firmly tapped him on the sides of his head, and Horatio's steel voice backed up the threat. "I wouldn't do that, if I were you. Take your hand out of your pocket." Sanchez unfroze and slowly pulled his hand out. Calleigh reached into the pocket, withdrawing the gun, as Tripp and the backup officers came up behind them. Calleigh looked at the gun briefly and rolled her eyes.
"Has this thing been cleaned this year? Bad housekeeping, Sanchez. What's wrong, did you lose your primary gun at a murder scene?"
Sanchez flinched. The guns pressing into his head didn't. "Hands behind your back," Horatio snapped, and Sanchez obeyed as Tripp clicked the cuffs into place. "Carlos Sanchez, you are under arrest for two counts of murder, one count of assault, and two counts of burglary. So far. Come on out, Sarah."
Sarah exited the closet and walked straight up to Sanchez, head held high. His nervous eyes immediately found her necklace, glistening in the afternoon light from the window, a mere two feet in front of him and forever out of his reach. Sarah glared at him. "I don't guess you'd let me hit him, would you?"
Calleigh shook her head. "It's against the rules, I'm afraid, but we'll hit him for you in court."
"And that," Horatio commented, "will hurt him a lot longer. Let's get him back to HQ."
(H/C)
Sanchez swallowed nervously and stared at his hands. "The gun was stolen," he tried weakly, but he didn't even sound convincing to himself.
"Your fingerprints stolen along with it?" Tripp asked.
Horatio ticked off the evidence on his fingers. "Your fingerprints have been found in Sarah's house and on the gun last night. Your fingernail was retrieved from Sarah after the assault at the hospital. Your shoe tread matches the shoe tread from a smashed monitor at the jewelry store. Residue from your shoes matches that found at the jewelry store and Sarah's, and your shoes have traces of blood from Tom Schaeffer. Your gun is an exact match for the weapon that killed both Hermann and Tom. Your fingerprints are on the cell phone that was found at the scene. You are going down for this, Sanchez, and your only hope is to make a deal and sell out whoever you were working for."
Sanchez shifted uneasily in the seat. "I don't know his name," he said softly. "I just have a cell phone number. I do jobs for a lot of people." Horatio's expression at the word jobs made him flinch back, as if from a physical blow.
"You met him, didn't you? For exchanges and such? You met him at the jewelry conference Monday." Tripp closed the distance a bit, and Sanchez's nervous eyes tracked from Horatio to Tripp, then back.
"I was delivering another package to someone else at the conference, and when he found out about it, he said he'd just meet me there to give me the picture. Just picking up a necklace. I'd done it before for him."
"Four times this year, in fact," Horatio stated, and Sanchez jumped.
"How'd you know that?"
"I'm smarter than you." It was Horatio's turn to close the distance ever so slightly, more a psychological advance than a physical one, but Sanchez felt it. "I know you met this man in a corner in the hotel lobby, next to a large potted plant. He told you the time and place for the pickup and gave you a picture of the necklace, and he said this was an especially big job, so you'd better do it right."
"Where were you?" Sanchez was staring at him.
Horatio went on. "I know you've spent this last week frantically looking for that necklace, and I know last night, at the church, you shot Tom Schaeffer in cold blood. He wasn't even involved, Sanchez. You shot him just because he was there, and then you walked up calmly to make sure he was dead." He trailed off there. Sanchez's expression had changed, his face losing all color. "What happened then, Sanchez? What spooked you?"
The man's lips tightened, and he shook his head in denial. Horatio recognized a stone wall. Whatever it was, Sanchez was terrified just thinking about it, and he didn't intend to share it. Not because he didn't want to tell them, but because he didn't want to revisit it himself. What had happened there?
Tripp stepped into the silence as Horatio was thinking. "Anybody else working with you?"
"No." Sanchez was relieved to escape the memory of the church, and he answered Tripp's question almost eagerly.
"This man you were doing the pickup for. Could you identify him from a photo?" Eric had a list of conference attendees and addresses, and photos could be pulled up from driver's licenses.
"Yes." Sanchez was helpful now, willing to talk about anything except last night.
Horatio spoke up again. "This man was from the Miami area? Did you usually meet him here?"
"Yes. We always met in public places. He said it was less conspicuous than sneaking around. I have his number, but it's just a cell phone."
"Prepaid, probably," Horatio said. "I'm sure it will be quite interesting to run your cell phone calls, though, since you did 'jobs' for a lot of people. You can probably make several deals with the DA, Sanchez. Might even save yourself from the death penalty and just get prison instead."
Calleigh spoke up, asking the question that Horatio would never ask. "How did you get to the church last night? Why were you looking for the necklace there?" Horatio's stunned look met hers, hurt that she wanted it voiced, and she gave him back a smile with all the confidence and love she could package into it. He might not trust himself, but she trusted him, and she knew he could not have been followed last night without noticing it.
Sanchez didn't even notice the interplay between them. He was talkative now, willing to cooperate. "It was on a list." His hand went to his pocket, and every officer in the room snapped to attention. "Easy. You all searched me, remember? Just getting my wallet out." He withdrew the wallet and took out a folded piece of paper which he put on the table. Calleigh unfolded it, and Tripp and Horatio leaned over to read it along with her. The list was in Sarah's handwriting, and it was helpfully titled, "Places I might have lost my necklace." Her subconscious had served her well. Heading the list was the church, name given, followed in parentheses by "SFS rehearsal."
Horatio's eyes met Calleigh's. "Sarah recopied her list for me," he said softly. This was obviously the original, jottings as places came to mind, much less neat than the one she had given Horatio.
"And this one was in her purse," Calleigh finished. "It wasn't you." There was no vindication in him, though, only sympathetic sadness as he realized that it was Sarah herself who had led Sanchez to the place where Tom had been killed.
His head abruptly came up, and the pinpoints of fire lit in his eyes. Where Tom had been killed. His mind racing, he recreated the scene, filling in the details of the church. Sanchez shooting Tom, walking up the aisle to him, stepping to the side of the body, bending over. "Horatio?" Calleigh was puzzled, seeing the leap but not following it.
Horatio turned smoothly back to Sanchez, absolutely confident now. He knew. "Last night, Sanchez, you walked up the aisle to Tom, holding your flashlight in one hand and the gun in the other. The auditorium was dark. When you stopped beside him, turned toward him, and bent over, the edge of the flashlight caught something at the front of the church, didn't it?" Sanchez cringed, his eyes widening, again seeing something beyond this small room. "At the front of the auditorium, there's a cross on the wall. What did you see there, Sanchez?"
The little man crumpled like the ashes of burned paper, all pretense of strength disintegrating. "He was looking at me!"
Tripp shook his head, picturing the church from his investigations that day. It was just an empty cross, a large wooden cross on the front wall. Probably some trick of the flashlight, although he was surprised it had spooked a hardened criminal like this. "Who was looking at you?"
"He was!" Sanchez's hands knotted into each other, almost as if in agitated prayer. "Something was up there, on that cross. He was looking straight at me. My mother said he'd see me. Never believed her. All these years, I never believed her. All these jobs. I've killed others, but not in a church. I bent over the man and looked up, and he was up there. It was different." He shook his head, fighting the memory. "He wouldn't stop looking at me, and I knew it. I shouldn't have killed in a church. He saw this one."
Horatio straightened up. "He saw all of them, Sanchez. He saw all of them." He nodded to the officer in the corner. "We'll be back to see you later with some photos. Book him." He and Calleigh left the interview room, leaving behind them a broken and guilty man.