KNOW THINE ENEMY

Chapter 3

After a restless night, Horatio awoke early. With some difficulty, he got out of bed and experimented. He found he could walk, using just one crutch for support. His leg still wouldn't bend and his whole body had stiffened up. It was surprisingly painful. But his brain was functioning, and he knew he could cope with work. He unwound the bandage on his right hand and inspected the damage. His palm was sore but dry, the grazes scabbing over. He tentatively flexed his fingers and found they worked, after a fashion. Enough to wash and shave. He made himself breakfast, then dressed for work. He took his badge and gun out of the safe and clipped them on. All right, he couldn't use the gun – his hands were too stiff – but at least he'd wear it, since he felt naked without it. He took some painkillers, put the bottle in his pocket, and waited for Eric.

"Well, you look all right," his colleague said doubtfully. "Can you walk?"

"Well enough. What's that?" He took a cane that Eric held out.

"I thought you might prefer it to crutches."

"That's great," he smiled. "I've been using one crutch, but this is better. Is it yours?" He tried a few steps. He was limping heavily, but it didn't feel too bad, and he thought a cane looked less pathetic than crutches.

"From ages back – I broke my ankle… I forgot I'd still got it."

"Thanks."

As they reached the lab, Horatio was conscious of Eric's nervousness, as he looked around and shielded him as they walked inside.

"You can't keep this up," he said softly. "It'll drive us both mad."

"How can you be so casual about it?"

"Not casual, brother. Realistic. Does everyone know, by the way?"

"They will. I had to open a case."

He nodded, and prepared himself for the inevitable questions. "Okay, but I don't want it given undue prominence. There's plenty of other work." He thought for a moment. "You and I will work on it today. We'll talk to Frank – see if he's got any ideas. After that… we'll probably have to let it go."

"We can't!"

"I suspect we'll run out of leads very quickly."

"But you can't just forget it!"

"Oh, I won't forget it. But it may have to sit on the back-burner, until –"

"Until something else happens?" Eric sounded angry. "Suppose they succeed next time?"

Horatio shrugged. "It's how it is." He gripped his colleague's shoulder briefly. "Come on, let's see what we can do today."

It was still early, and they saw no one on the way to Horatio's office, where he sat down gratefully.

Eric looked worried. "Look – don't shout at me – but if it gets too much… call me and I'll take you home."

Horatio nodded briefly, then looked up at a knock on the door. Frank Tripp came in without waiting for permission.

"Is it true? Someone ran you down?" he demanded.

"They did."

"Are you hurt? Well, you must be. Eric? Why did you let him come to work?"

"Hey, Frank!" Eric laughed. "Do you know a way of stopping him doing what he wants?"

"No, I suppose not."

"I'm here, you know…" Horatio murmured quietly. "And to answer you, Francis, I've got a lot of bruises, but no broken bones, and I'm fine. And it's my decision to work, not Eric's. Or yours." He smiled to soften his words. "Can you spare us an hour? I'd like your input…"

The detective sat down while they went over the sparse evidence.

"Well, there's precious little to go on." Frank ran a hand over his bald head. "I'm sure you can match up the plastic… Doesn't get you to the car though. It's not likely to appear in a shop for repair – it's just four screws to replace a light guard…"

"Hoped you might have some new ideas."

"How many matching vehicles, Eric?"

"A hundred plus."

"Prove that the plastic is what you think it is, and I can amend the BOLO. I can check the main dealers to see if they've sold a light guard… although it's not the sort of thing people always bother to mend." Frank thought hard. "I suppose it's likely it's someone you've locked up… Let me get you a list of recent prison releases…"

"All right – ones where I was the lead, since it seems personal. And check for people who were transferred to other prisons," Horatio added.

"And," Eric put in, "we wondered if it was someone upset by a failed court case…"

"A victim who thought they'd been let down? Okay, I'll pull out any 'not guilties'. What else can I do?" The big detective looked at his friend. "Hell, Horatio – suppose they try again?"

"That's what I keep saying," said Eric.

"Listen, both of you." There was a hint of irritation in Horatio's voice. "There is nothing – nothing – I can do about that. I'm not going into hiding."

Frank stood up. "Let me work on prison and court records. I'll cross-reference with the owners of black GMCs."

"I'll work on the plastic and the mud," added Eric. "Horatio?"

"I'll go through recent cases – see if anything stands out. But if we haven't got anything by the end of today, I'm pulling the plug."

They met again at four o'clock. Progress was minimal. Eric had proved the provenance of the plastic, and also that the fertilizer was a very commonly used brand; used, among other places, in the parks in Miami. Frank had lists from prisons and courts, going back twelve months, but not a single match to an owner of a black SUV.

"Right," said Horatio, firmly. "We call it. We're going to have to wait for this guy to show himself again."

Frank sighed, depressed, but accepting they simply had nothing to pursue. He went to the door. "Do you know it's a guy?"

"What do you mean?" Eric looked puzzled. "A woman?"

"Could be. A ton of automobile is one weapon a woman can use as easily as a man. Just a thought."

"It's not a woman's crime, is it? Statistically?" Horatio frowned.

"Not usually. As I said, just a thought."

"Oh well, it's a thought that'll have to wait. For now, my leg hurts. I'm going home."

The next morning followed the same routine with Eric picking Horatio up.

"You know I could probably drive. It's my left leg. And it's getting better," Horatio said.

"I'd rather…" Eric hesitated. "Well, I'd rather you weren't on your own."

His boss's voice was gentle. "I'll have to be, soon."

"Not yet, okay?"

He had barely reached his office when Frank called.

"Do you remember Judge Westbrook?" he asked.

"Yeah, he retired a few years back, didn't he? Nice old boy…"

"Dead old boy. Someone ran him down last night."

TBC