A/N: I'm not an expert on shotguns, merely knowing how to fire them, but my grandpa did make his own shells. I watched him at it many times as a kid. Amazing what comes back to you as fic research, even from across many, many years. Sorry for any errors due to grandpa's and my lack of technical expertise. Nor am I an expert on sailing, having simply read a few books.
(H/C)
"I can discover facts, Watson, but I cannot change them."
Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
(H/C)
Calleigh lined up her shots carefully, refusing to admit that she was annoyed. She was simply investigating, and Speed's suggestion had nothing to do with why she chose to investigate this next. Holding a shotgun of the appropriate gauge, she aimed carefully at the first target, which had a pillow propped behind it. Six feet. She moved down a target and blasted the next pillow into pillow heaven. Five feet. Four feet. Three feet. She stopped with that one; wishing for a few more pillows to blast, but if the perp had fired from the foot of the bed, it couldn't be closer than three feet, and if he had fired from closer than the foot of the bed, the damage would have been even more severe to Angelina's face. Calleigh would have already guessed at three feet even without test firings. She was simply verifying her suspicions, being a thorough investigator. Besides, courts liked evidence.
Evidence. She felt a quick stab of annoyance at Speed again. How could he state, without anything behind it, that Winslow might be involved? The idea was ridiculous. She would almost as soon suspect Horatio. She inspected the targets and target pillows, comparing their damage to the crime scene photos and the actual pillow. Three feet, as she'd suspected. Now, if they could just find the weapon. Either one. .
She inspected the shells again. Maybe there was something else here. Shells could contain trace of where they had been, giving clues to the killer's base of operations. She picked up the shells and started for Trace with a business-like stride. Speed apparently had too much time on his hands. She'd give him another avenue to investigate.
Horatio entered the hall just ahead of her from the opposite side. He checked stride and waited, and she fell into step with him. "Hey. Speed said you had a case."
"Big one. Some judge's wife was murdered this morning while he was out with his mistress. Or so he says."
"You think he bought her story?"
"I don't think anything yet, Cal. I didn't like him, but that doesn't make him a criminal. We'll have to check his story out, though, as well as any other leads. The husband always gets checked out when the wife is killed."
"Of course," she replied automatically. "Just don't wear yourself out today. I really meant for you to stick to paperwork." He was looking a bit pale and more than a bit tired.
"I'm fine, Calleigh. I had to take this one. The captain called."
"The judge pulled strings?"
"Don't they all? He wants special treatment. I told him I'd give a thorough investigation to his wife's murder."
"But not special treatment for him?"
He grinned at her. "I didn't actually say it, but the transmission was received. He seemed most concerned with what the bad publicity would do to his upcoming campaign for the state senate."
"Politics," she commiserated. "Poor Horatio. Well, I promise to come spring you from this investigation promptly at 5:00, regardless of what the captain, the judge, or the campaign chairman have to say about it." Both of them glanced at their watches at the same instant, then looked harder. "How did it get to be 4:30?"
"Beats me. Didn't we just get here? By the way, how's Winslow's case coming?"
"Slowly. There's so much ballistics evidence on this one. I've worked out that the distance was three feet on the shotgun. Awfully hard to tell on the handgun, since it came later, and there wasn't a regular target surface left." She flinched, hearing her own words. "I'm not forgetting she was a person, Horatio."
"I know. There are plenty of things I say on this job that I wouldn't want Rosalind to hear me talking about. It's not dehumanizing them, but we have to get a bit of distance to investigate thoroughly."
They had stopped walking long since and were simply standing in the hallway. "Well, you'd better get to your office and put the judge's case to bed for the night, and I'd better talk to Speed, not that he'll want to see me."
Horatio arched an eyebrow. "Why not?"
"Oh, I snapped at him earlier this afternoon. He was asking if anyone had checked out Winslow's alibi yet."
"Has anyone?"
She stared at him. "Not you, too. Horatio, Winslow had nothing to do with this."
"I'm not saying he did; I'm just saying it's procedure. It might lead you to important data you'd miss otherwise. You just agreed that it's standard to look at the husband's story."
"I was talking about judges who are running for office, not about Winslow. I know him, Horatio. He's innocent."
He studied her for a minute. "Don't let your feelings for a friend get in the way of investigating the case, Calleigh."
"I'm not," she insisted a bit too loudly. A passer-by looked at her strangely, and Horatio hurried him on with one sharp glance. "I'm just saying it would be a waste of time."
"We waste a lot of time on this job tracking dead ends, Cal. Sometimes it helps us find the right ones."
She sighed. Why did he have to sound so reasonable? "Okay, you probably have a point. But nothing will come of it. I'll meet you at the elevator in 30 minutes." She turned toward Trace.
"Calleigh." His voice stopped her, and she looked back. "I think you should check his story out, but I agree with you. He's innocent."
"Why? You don't know him like I do."
"But I know you. Anyone you trusted that much wouldn't be a murderer, at least not in cold blood. Your judgment is better than that."
She relaxed slightly. "Thank you, Horatio. See you in a little bit." She marched into Trace, feeling a little less defensive. He was right. She couldn't totally ignore Winslow as a possible suspect. Better rule him out as quickly as possible, so they could get after the real murderer.
Speed looked up uneasily as she entered his domain. She put the shotgun shells on the table. "I want you to run trace on these, any clue as to where the killer had been before he handled them. Also, we are going to check out Winslow's alibi. Tomorrow. We aren't working late tonight, and that goes for you, too."
He relaxed. "I had to mention it."
"I know. No problem. Just be forewarned that it's a waste of time." She turned and marched back to Ballistics, and Speed looked after her. He still had the feeling that Calleigh wasn't being totally objective with this case.
(H/C)
At 5:00 promptly, Calleigh entered the lobby and approached the elevator. The door opened, and Winslow exited, nearly running into her. "Were you looking for me?"
"Yeah." He looked awful, like he hadn't slept all night. "Do you know anything yet?"
"Not yet. It takes time, Winslow. I'm sorry."
He shook his head. "I keep thinking it's all a nightmare and I'll wake up any minute. Do you know when she died, at least?"
"Sunday night late. You were out sailing, right?" She was ready to apologize and explain if he took the question wrong, but he didn't seem offended. He just looked distracted, which was only to be expected, poor man.
"Um, yeah, I was out sailing. I left Saturday morning and didn't get back into the marina until Tuesday morning."
"What's your boat's name, by the way?"
He smiled fondly, the sadness dissipating for a second. "Belle."
"And is she one?"
He nodded. "Temperamental but a real lady. Don't take her for granted, and you're fine."
"Just like people," she said. She was surprised at his reaction.
"Do you think I don't wonder about that?" he asked almost fiercely.
"What? I'm not following you, Winslow."
He studied her for a minute, then relaxed. "Sorry. I was just thinking, I expected Ang to always be there for me. I never thought it would end like this."
"It's not your fault, Winslow." She hugged him, only breaking away when she heard well-loved footsteps behind her. "Horatio, this is Winslow Mitchell. Horatio Caine, my husband."
Horatio held out his hand. "Nice to meet you, but I wish it could be under better circumstances."
"So do I." Winslow studied Horatio curiously, almost like a detective, the gaze frisking him from head to toe. Not that Horatio wasn't doing the same, Calleigh thought, but he was much more subtle about it. "Well, I'll see you later, Calleigh. Keep me in the loop, okay?"
"I will." Horatio looked at her but said nothing.
The elevator opened, and they all three entered, the men on either side of Calleigh. The trip down was made in silence.
(H/C)
Horatio dropped into the recliner as soon as they got home. Calleigh checked to make sure he wasn't running a fever again, which he wasn't, then left him alone. He looked beyond exhausted. "I'll fix supper, Horatio. It'll be ready soon."
Rosalind climbed into his lap. "Bed, Dada!" she insisted.
"Good idea, just as soon as I have the energy to walk there," he assured her.
"And as soon as you eat," Calleigh added. "I did warn you this morning you couldn't be totally over it. You shouldn't have worked today, especially not going out in the field."
"I'm fine, Cal. Not sick, just tired." He closed his eyes.
"You'll feel much better tomorrow," she promised. "A good night's sleep will do wonders. And it's only two days until the weekend."
He grinned, opening his eyes again. "We'll have to do something as a family this weekend to celebrate all being well. Last weekend didn't deserve the title. What should we do Saturday, Rosalind?"
Rosalind considered. "To the park!" she suggested after a minute.
"The park it is. We'll all go to the park Saturday and spend a real day off. I promise. No work, no germs, nothing but fun together." He looked up at Calleigh, still standing there. "Not to rush you, Cal, but weren't you going to cook?" He would have skipped it and gone on to bed, but he knew she wouldn't let him.
"On my way," she replied. She had just been enjoying watching Horatio and Rosalind interacting, but she had a lifetime to do it in, and he did look beat tonight. She hurried into the kitchen, humming to herself, even temporarily forgetting Winslow's case. She, like Rosalind, couldn't wait until Saturday.
(H/C)
Thursday would turn out to be a day that Calleigh remembered all her life, but it started innocently enough. They enjoyed breakfast together as a family, with Horatio looking much better, Rosalind taking bird inventory through the huge glass doors onto the beach, and Calleigh perfectly content.
Once she arrived at CSI, though, the case was back at the front of her mind. Might as well get the wasted time out of the way as quickly as possible. She started calling marinas, finding gold on only her third call. Yes, Winslow Mitchell berthed his sailboat, Belle, there. He had left Saturday morning and returned Tuesday morning, as he'd said. Calleigh hung up with satisfaction. So much for verifying Winslow's alibi. She hoped her luck was as good throughout the day, although she didn't really expect it. Only three marinas called. Amazing.
She spent the morning going over the ballistics evidence again. The pellets from the shotgun were slightly irregular, indicating to her trained eye that the perp made his own pellets and packed his own shells. There were two reasons for that, usually: Odd gauge ammunition that wasn't readily obtainable, so he had to reuse his shells, which didn't apply here, or a compulsive hobby shooter who simply enjoyed making his own shells. The perp had done them a favor. She was sure she could match the slight ridges on the pellets to the specific mold.
Speed interrupted her musings. "I finished trace on those shells. Slight gunpowder and lead residue on the exterior. I think he packed his own shells."
"I'm ahead of you," she reported. "He even used a mold with an irregular seam in it for the pellets."
"There was one other thing, though. High-octane fuel, usually either from boats or airplanes. Any trace inside the shells, of course, would have burned out, but there's a little bit of trace on the ridges of the plastic on the outside of the shell. I think we need to look at the marinas."
"By the way, I verified Winslow's alibi this morning. Called the place where he keeps his boat, and he left Saturday morning and came back Tuesday morning. So much for him as a suspect. He might have boating friends, though. The murderer is usually acquainted with the victim."
Speed looked uneasy. "Um, is that all you did on the alibi?"
Calleigh instantly went defensive. "I checked it out, and it checks out."
"But he could have come back at some point and simply parked at another marina. In fact, if he'd wanted to manufacture an alibi, he wouldn't take the boat to his home port, and he'd make good and sure they saw him leave Saturday and come back Tuesday. We ought to check with other marinas and also check his credit cards."
Calleigh's eyes flared up, and Speed backed a few steps. "Speedle, why are you trying to pin this on Winslow?"
"I'm not trying to pin it on anybody, just investigating. More thoroughly than you are." He regretted those words as soon as he spoke them. He knew he wouldn't get through to her by criticism, not when she was in this mood.
"When I need advice on how to conduct an investigation, I'll ask for it," she snapped. "Go do something useful – like looking for a marina connection among Winslow's friends. Gun clubs, too."
Speed turned and left, trying not to run but walking quickly. He hesitated as he came to the hallway, then unwillingly and much more slowly turned left, heading not for Trace but for Horatio's office.
(H/C)
Calleigh was making notes on her findings when her cell phone rang. She stared at the page, realizing suddenly that her pen had torn clear through the paper. "Calleigh Caine," she said.
It was Tripp. "Found a possible witness."
"To the murder?"
"No, not directly. Somebody two streets over is sure she saw Mitchell in the neighborhood on Sunday night."
"Well, she's mistaken. Either that or lying."
"Ought to ask him that. You want to come along when I talk to him?"
"No, I want to talk to this witness myself first. What's her name and address?"
Tripp sighed. "She's positive, Calleigh."
"Name and address."
He provided them. "I'll meet you there."
Calleigh stabbed end with her finger and stalked out of Ballistics. She wished everyone would get off of Winslow's tail so that they could solve this case. Well, she, at least, was going to find out the truth here. Shoulders squared, she entered the elevator.
