30.
"H!" Eric called out, jogging to catch up with his boss. The darkly handsome Delko was wearing a very satisfied grin on his face as he held up a thick official file. "Paydirt!" he added as Horatio headed for the break room of the Lab.
"Is Calleigh joining us?" Horatio asked as they entered the room together.
"Already here..." she replied, turning from the coffee maker. Horatio smothered a smirk, ducking his head as he reached over and pulled a chair out for her to sit down. Eric grabbed one from nearby, turning it around, and slapped the file on the desk.
Sitting sideways next to Calleigh, Horatio crossed his long legs and reached over the table top to pull the file to him. He rested it on his lap as he flipped it open and glanced at Eric.
"Give us a run down," he said.
"Searching that company may have broken this case wide open," Eric grinned.
"Does it tie my sniper to the company?" Calleigh asked.
"And how!"
"Oh, do tell!" Calleigh asked, with a grin of anticipation.
"The company is owned by Charles Claremont Lange and is heavily invested in property holdings, imports/exports, and galleries all focusing on artwork. It had dozens of blinds set up to hide the fact that CCL owns properties on both coasts including the warehouse where Paul Hirsch and Joe Miller were killed earlier this year. That's the first tie in for Owen Parnell. The second is his financial records, which we were able to get a warrant for just before the bank closed tonight. Some very large payments have been directly deposited to his account through one of the blinds linked to CCL management."
"$20,000.00 in March? " Horatio murmured, his eyes scanning through the file rapidly, processing facts and info as he went, "And he missed his target."
"There was another one made for $5000.00 in June, with a payment made shortly afterwards to a certain tattoo artist who specializes in weird piercing jobs, then a $10,000.00 payment two days ago," Eric replied.
"Just in time for another job...in which he missed his target," Calleigh murmured. "But who is Charles Lange?"
'This is where it begins to get good," Eric grinned. "Charles Lange, 64, suffered a massive stroke 18 months ago and has been in a very high-end rehab center in Tampa since February of this year. He's incapable of breathing on his own, much less running a business."
Both the junior CSI's saw the faintest of smirks appear on Horatio's face as he continued going over Eric's data.
"So someone is running CCL Management and all its related assets and paying a large quantity of money to my hit man..." Calleigh said, possessively. "Who is the one in charge of operations now?"
"His wife," Horatio murmured, still going through Eric's file.
"Constance Lange," Eric said. "A 48 year old Bal Harbour socialite. Information on her is coming through now about how, since Charles was moved to Tampa, she's been appearing at private social gatherings with a new boy toy."
"Owen Parnell," Calleigh grinned wolfishly.
"And the warrant served on Mrs. Lange's home has already revealed that Owen Parnell has been staying there with her."
"That's good enough for me to keep him here a good long time..." Calleigh said in quiet triumph. "So where is Constance Lange?"
"Probably in the wind by now, she hasn't been seen since about four o' clock this afternoon," Eric said looking at Horatio.
"Lange Galleries to be precise," he said, thunking a page in the file with the back of his hand. "I spoke with her about Lionel Harrison and Schell Demereau stopping by there on their way to Oleta River before the shooting."
"Her gallery attendant said she left shortly after that and hasn't been seen since," Eric replied.
"She's not as in the wind as you think..." Horatio replied, casting a glance towards Eric.
"If she is the one behind all this killing, won't she try another attempt on Miss Demereau?" Calleigh asked.
"That's what I am counting on," Horatio smiled coldly, looking back at the file before closing it and handing it to Calleigh. "There's plenty there to hang your Marine with."
"My Marine, how sweet!" she replied with a grin.
"Isn't Miss Demereau still in the hospital?" Eric asked. "What's to be done about her if Constance Lange is still out free?"
"Miss Demereau is in a very secure place and I fully anticipate meeting up with Mrs. Lange very soon..." Horatio said, when a shadow appeared in the doorway.
"Tyler?" Horatio asked, not moving.
"You were right, boss. Right after you left the gallery, that cell phone you asked to track, immediately made calls to the Parnell residence. Then the cell phone that Parnell was carrying at the time of his arrest also began ringing."
"Excellent..." Horatio murmured. and began to rise out of his chair.
"So what are your plans now?" Eric asked.
"I plan..." Horatio said, "I plan on having an interesting meeting with Connie Lange again," he smiled mercurially at his crew. "Let's wrap this case up good and tight, shall we?" he said as he headed for the doorway.
"As tight as a six by nine cell!" Calleigh chortled, causing Horatio to chuckle as he disappeared down the hallway.
Almost like clockwork, as Horatio was striding across the parking lot, his cell phone began ringing. "Frank..." he said as he answered it, climbing into the vehicle.
"How the hell do you keep doing that?" Frank's gruff voice demanded, causing Horatio to smirk.
"What's happening?" Horatio asked.
"Car you wanted watched just pulled in, wanna join in on the fun?"
"But, of course. I'm on my way, should be there in ten," Horatio replied, snapping the cell phone shut.
It was quiet at the nurses station, with only one staff member, doing necessary work, as the trauma ward settled down to a quiet night. She barely glanced up as the elevator discharged a visitor. On a large erasable board behind the station was a list of all current patients, listing room numbers, and pertinent information decipherable only to the nurses and doctors working there.
A tall blonde, holding a large purse and a vase of roses with a card, approached the counter, reading the list of names on the board.
"Excuse me..." a soft southern voice asked, causing the nurse to look up. "I'm looking for Lionel Harrison's room?"
"Harrison?" the nurse asked, looking at the woman a moment. "We don't have a Harrison listed for the trauma ward..."
"Oh I'm terribly sorry!" the woman blushed, "I meant Harston, Mr. Harston's room," she nodded at the board.
The nurse turned, reading the board and smiled. "Oh yes, Mr. Harston. He's in room 412, just go down the corridor on the left, it will be the third room on the left."
"Thank you, darling!" the blonde replied. "Before I go can you point me to a ladies room?"
"Oh sure, just down that same corridor," the nurse pointed down the appropriate hall."You can't miss them!" She smiled at the visitor.
"Thank you, child..." the woman replied and began walking off.
In the restroom, Connie Lange set the flowers down with a grim look of disgust, then began pawing around at the contents of her purse. She smiled coldly as she pulled up a small .22 caliber pistol. Rearranging the contents of her purse, she set it in easy reach, leaving the purse open, and went back out in the nearly deserted hall. Only a maintenance worker was silently mopping, a safety cone set in place to warn of slippery floors.
Glancing around she immediately headed towards the far end of the corridor, giving the janitor a cold smile, and searched for the room she knew to be Schell Demereau's.
It was the furthest left side room in the ward, and when Connie slowly approached she glanced inside, seeing that there was no one else in the room and that the curtain was drawn around the bed. Barely discernible behind the curtain was the outline of a prone patient, with the accompanying sounds of monitoring equipment. She could just make out an IV stand as well.
"Schell, darling?" Connie asked, slipping into the room and approaching the other empty bed. Not getting a response, she set her purse on the bed, and pulled out the pistol.
Looking at it with a small triumphant grin, she reached over and grabbed the pillow on the bed, folding it in half and hiding the gun in the fold. She held the pillow in one hand , and the pistol in the other.
Quietly, with the effectively silenced pistol before her, she nudged back the curtain, and approached the prone figure in the bed.
Just about ready to pull the trigger, she heard a low, growling male voice behind her say...
"Connie, drop the gun!"