KNOW THINE ENEMY

Chapter 5

Tom's report showed that Judge Westbrook, apart from a completely crushed chest, was, in his words, 'a healthy man'. Trace found nothing unexpected; plenty of evidence of the incident, some dog hairs, but nothing else. And the black car had disappeared. Any hope that it might be dumped, torched, or dropped in a river, dissipated, as the days passed. Even Horatio's list of cases wasn't helping – it was just too long. He knew he needed another parameter to narrow it. Unfortunately, the only parameter that came to mind was another victim.

On the plus side, his bruised body was healing slowly, and he thought he could use his gun again, though it hadn't been put to the test. Eric hadn't stopped hovering over him. He was going to have to have a word about that…

After three days, he was forced to admit that they still had nothing, and Tom Loman phoned, asking to release the body.

"Yes, you can. Has he got family?"

"A sister's taking care of things. Can I release the dog? The sister says the judge would want them buried together."

"Yes, let the dog go with him." Horatio felt a wave of sadness. A lifetime spent serving the community, and the judge's last friend was his dog. Still, perhaps that was only right. He would have seen all the worst aspects of that community, and probably the dog's loyalty was the best antidote.

He wondered briefly if he'd end up like that, then put the thought aside, and reluctantly considered relegating another hit-and-run to the back-burner.

Two days later, he attended the funeral, and was pleased to see that the judge had been far from friendless; his demise had brought out large numbers of friends and former colleagues. Horatio stood at the back of the crowd, hoping to avoid questions about how the case was going, and wondered if the beloved dog had made it into the grave with her master.

Back at the lab, thoroughly depressed, he called Eric in for a chat.

"What's up?" His colleague was now working on a different case. "You look… I don't know… grim."

"I've just come from Judge Westbrook's funeral, that's all. And, luckily, no one asked me how the case was going. Lucky, because it's going nowhere."

"You've said it to me plenty of times – if the evidence isn't there –"

"I know that. I just keep thinking we're missing something."

"I don't think so. Hit-and-runs are difficult because the perp doesn't touch the victim. Doesn't get out of the vehicle. Without the car, we're bound to have next to nothing."

"Sorry, Eric – I just need to talk it through. There must be a different way of looking at it… We've solved them before."

"We have… But first, we usually find the car – even if it's in the river. And second, we can look into the victim's background for motive. In this case – and yours – it looks like a general vendetta against law enforcement."

"So no new ideas…"

"Sorry, H, none. Something'll turn up, you'll see. How do you feel, anyway?"

"Oh, not bad. Can't stand for too long. Still can't bend down. But okay – you have to stop worrying about me." He drew a deep breath. "Right, I'm going to have to shelve this case – for now."

He did, and other cases took over. But the hit-and-runs weren't far from his mind. Neither, though he admitted it to no one, was his own near-miss. Determined not to change his routine, he nevertheless found himself driving to places he might have walked. He excused it to himself as taking care of his leg, but he knew that wasn't the whole story. He couldn't yet go running, so he spent all his time at home or in the lab. Or at crime scenes, where he was always with other CSIs or police officers. He wasn't fearful, but he had to acknowledge that he was more cautious than usual. Yet another reason to want to see the guy caught.

It was a week later, and he was sitting on the fire escape steps with Frank Tripp, drinking coffee. It was one of their favorite places for a relaxing chat. Their respective break rooms were usually too noisy; noisy, and then going quiet if someone senior came in. Hardly relaxing.

"We had another hit-and-run last night," Frank said casually. "They're obviously crime of the month." He didn't sound concerned.

Horatio stared at him. "Why didn't you call me?"

"Oh, nothing to do with yours. I'm winding you up. It was a little blue Ford, and we caught the driver a mile down the road."

"Even so… Tell me…"

"A woman – said she didn't know she'd hit anyone. She ran over 'something in the road'. But she cracked the radiator so the car soon seized up. She was completely hysterical when she was told – they had to take her to hospital and treat her for shock. So – nothing like yours."

"Is the guy dead? It was a guy, I presume."

"Yes. And yes."

Horatio was silent. He hated coincidences.

"What?" Frank asked.

"Do you mind if I look at the details? I'm a bit sensitive about hit-and-runs at the moment."

"No, look all you want. The reports are on my desk. Collect them on the way through."

"Are you charging her?"

"Don't know yet. I'm waiting on the autopsy – the night shift didn't get round to it. If the guy was really lying in the road, her story's credible… It's not even a hit-and-run really – just an accident she didn't know she had."

Horatio sipped his coffee, wondering if he was over-reacting. Miami was a big and busy city. Car accidents happened all the time. People ran into people… Most likely Frank was right, but it wouldn't hurt to look.

Laura McClusky… The name didn't ring any bells, and, when he pulled her record, neither did the face. Not that there was much of a record. One DUI in 2011. The mug shot showed a hard-looking bleached blond, of thirty-two. She looked older. The police report of last night's incident said only what Frank had already told him. The victim was one Joseph Johnson, aged fifty-eight. Certified dead at the scene. No record… That name didn't ring a bell either.

He suspected he ought to just give the report back to PD, and let them get on with it, but his natural curiosity got the better of him and he found himself in the morgue, where Tom Loman was working on Mr Johnson's body.

"Horatio?" The ME looked surprised. "Didn't know this was one of yours."

"It's not. Just curious, since the automobile seems to be weapon of choice this month."

"I believe this one's supposed to be an accident."

"Supposed?"

"Well, I can't say," the doctor said. He pulled the sheet back, revealing obvious damage to the shins. "That's up to you people. I can tell you that he was standing up when he was hit."

Horatio went straight back to Frank to tell him what Tom had said.

"So she lied, huh?" Frank scowled.

"Well, maybe not. If the man had already been knocked down and was lying in the road… It's happened before."

"Can you prove that?"

"We've got the car, yes?"

"It's impounded."

Horatio grinned. "Then we can prove it." He touched Frank's arm. "Can I take this one?"

"Can I stop you? Yes, go for it."

TBC