Mind of a Fanatic

Chapter 15

"Lambchop!"

Calleigh jerked upright, hissing when the motion jarred her shoulder. "Dad!?"

"Calleigh, what is all this? What happened to you? Why are you in a wheelchair" Kenwall Duquesne came forward, briefcase in hand, deep concern for his daughter etched across his features. He fixed Horatio with a furious glare. "And why wasn't I informed?

"Dad, please calm down." Calleigh said tiredly but firmly. "Horatio, I need to speak to my dad; alone."

"Okay sweetheart." Reluctantly, Horatio relented, his protectiveness over Calleigh going into overdrive. He shot Kenwall a telling look; a real 'you-make-her-upset-and-you're-dead-meat' special. "The judge is allowing us to use Conference room 2B."

"I know where that is." Kenwall shouldered Horatio out of the way and took up pushing the wheelchair. He pushed it into the conference room and shut the door. He sat down opposite his daughter and spoke softly. "I know why no one called me, Calleigh; but that's not important right now. What happened to you? What put you in a wheelchair, honey?"

"I got hurt on duty," she lied, not wanting to involve her father in this. It could very well send him to the nearest bar and she wanted to keep him from that; to protect him from the ghastly details. "I'm a cop; it's an occupational hazard."

"You can't lie to me Calleigh. You've always been a lousy liar. Try again, please?" Kenwall paced a finger under her chin and raised her head so she was forced to look him in the eye. When he spoke his voice was softer and filled with more tenderness than she had ever heard. "Lambchop, what hurt you?"

Tears stung at the back of her eyes. She blinked rapidly to rid herself of them. "I don't want to upset you…"

"This not knowing upsets me more. Don't think I'm heading for the bottle no matter what you tell me." Kenwall replied quietly. "You're still my little girl and someone or something put you in a wheelchair, so I want to know the truth."

Calleigh looked at his lined face and the love and concern in his eyes. Maybe she could tell him an edited version of the story, but she doubted it. Still, it was worth a try … "I was abducted and beaten. The guy who did it is on trial and I'm here giving my testimony."

"He wouldn't be that Catholic priest on trial, now would it?" His heart dropped into the pit of his stomach; Steve had told him some, but held back the details of the case he was defending. Now he knew why. "My buddy, Steve, is the public defender assigned to him. He said the guy kidnapped, tortured and beat a detective, but refused to go into further detail. No wonder he wouldn't tell me."

Calleigh looked down and tried to stifle a sob. A single tear ran down her cheek. She impatiently brushed it away.

"I didn't know it was you. Steve didn't tell me much, but her told me enough to know that you've been through a nightmare." When she nodded and was unable to hold back her tears any longer, he did the only thing he could think of. Kenwall picked her up out of the wheelchair and set her in his lap as he used to when she was a little girl.

She rested her head on his shoulder and he rocked her, singing softly, his gentle tenor clear above her sobbing.

Hush, my child, let peace attend thee, all through the night,

Guardian angels God will send thee, all through the night,

Soft the drowsy hours are creeping,

Hill and vale in slumber sleeping,

I, my loving vigil keeping, all through the night.

He continued to hum the tune until she calmed and her breathing was soft and gentle. He looked down at her, expecting her to be asleep, but her eyes were open and held a far away look in them.

"You used to sing that to me when I was little and woke up in the middle of the night with a nightmare," Calleigh said.

"You've been through a waking nightmare," Kenwall said. "How do you feel now?"

"Better."

He kissed the top of her head and gave her a gentle hug. "I love you, Calleigh."

"I love you, too, dad." She sat up, wiping her eyes. "Because of what Dupree did to me, I can't stand on my own or walk yet so why don't you put me back in the wheelchair now? I must be breaking your legs; I'm a lot bigger than I was when I was five." The admission of her weakness cut through her like a knife and she almost began crying again. "I don't want to be a burden."

"You're no burden to me; you're my daughter," he said tenderly as he placed her back in the chair. He was shaken by how defeated she seemed. This was not his fiery, headstrong, fierce daughter that pulled him out of bars at 2 a.m. And the tears...he hadn't seen her cry since she was a little girl. His Calleigh doesn't cry. What did this guy do to her? "Do you want me to stay?"

Panic lanced through her. She hadn't even gotten to the worst part of her captivity yet and had no idea what hearing it would do to him. She couldn't imagine what hearing the cross examination would be like for him.

"Don't you have court today?" she asked, praying that he had some kind of scheduling conflict that would keep him way until the worst was over.

"I'm done. It was just a bond hearing. I can stay if you need me to," Kenwall said. "Please let me stay, honey; just for once, need your old dad when he can be here for you."

"Dad, I don't want you to have to hear the things Dupree did to me. It's sadistic and violent and disturbing; Horatio, Eric and Ryan are all screwed up over this, and even Alexx and Natalia want a piece of him – and that's way out of character for them. I'm not his only victim in this; they are too. I don't want to add you to that list, you'll want to kill him." Calleigh pleaded. "I can't stop you if you want to stay, but it's going to be bad, and you should know that going in."

"Calleigh, if you had to live through it, then I can be strong enough to hear it. I'll get angry, sure, but I want to be here for you." He said, needing desperately to make her understand how important this was to him. "For once I can be; I've taken so much from you, please let me give something back."

Calleigh could feel fresh tears forming at her father's heartfelt words. I've wondered for so long if I was just a convenient chauffeur for him when he got too drunk to drive home. I've wondered if he even knew it was me. I guess he did. So this is what it's like being able to lean on a parent; it's a nice feeling. "Then stay, daddy, because I do need you."

"That's my girl, now, no more tears, young lady; you have testimony to give, and I can see that you're tired already. I know Steve, and if he sees your exhaustion, he'll do anything in his power to exploit that. It's nothing personal, mind you; he's just working for his client just like you work for the victim. The fact that he and I are friends and that you're my daughter won't stop him." Kenwall advised. "Calleigh, nothing says that I can't be hired independently, pro bono, in an advisory capacity in any case that is offered me outside the Public Defender's office. Hire me pro bono and I'll make sure Steve doesn't take advantage of you."

"Are you serious?" Calleigh was incredulous. "Isn't there something somewhere about not taking a family member's case?"

"That's the medical profession. I want to do this, Lambchop."

"I can ask Sam," Calleigh considered the idea for a moment. "But I don't know if he'll go for it."

"You say that my client," Steve Powell approached the witness stand. "A Catholic priest nonetheless, abducted, tortured and beat you. Is this correct?"

"Yes it is," Calleigh replied calmly, glancing over to where her father now sat shoulder to shoulder with Sam Bartlett.

"I see. Did he do anything else to you?" Powell asked pacing, trying to draw her gaze away from the jury box when she answered.

Wasn't it enough that he almost beat me to death? Oh, yes, I know exactly how bad it is. Why do you think I'm in the damned wheelchair? Do you think it's just for effect, you asshole? Calleigh could feel her temper rise. She took a deep breath and blew it out carefully in an effort to calm down and not shout.

"I'm sorry Counselor; I don't know why you're asking that question." She replied with false sweetness in her voice and steel in her eyes. "Abducting, torturing and beating me wasn't enough of a violent act?"

Powell stopped his pacing right in front of her and leaned over her petite form. "Did he rape you?"

"No." The question took Calleigh off guard for a moment, but the moment passed quickly. Look at it as verbal sparring. She thought. Try to enjoy the challenge. "He never touched me in that way."

Powell narrowed his eyes at her. "What way?"

Oh please. Calleigh fought with the almost irresistible urge to roll her eyes. "In a sexual way."

"You said that you woke up naked…"

"I said that I had been disrobed of my own clothing and redressed in a hair shirt," Calleigh said, cutting him off. She glanced over at her father who was discreetly signaling her to calm down. "I never said that I had been…"

"I object to this line of questioning, Your Honor." Bartlett said firmly. "The rape kit showed no findings of sexual assault . The defense is trying to confuse the witness and shock the jury."

"Sustained," Garcia said. He turned to Powell. "Mr. Powell , you're badgering the witness; change your line of questioning."

"Yes, Your Honor. Detective Duquesne, at any time during your alleged captivity did you provoke my client into striking you?" Powell asked.

"What may provoke one to violence may roll off another's back," Calleigh replied cagily.

"You did not answer my question," Powell stated. "Did you say or do anything that resulted in my client striking you?"

"If, by that, you mean that I did everything in my power to resist his brainwashing techniques," Calleigh replied clearly, glancing again at the prosecution's table and getting nods of encouragement from both men. "Then yes, I did."

Powell paced. Dammit, she really is Kenwall's kid, isn't she? He always told me she was brilliant. I need to find a chink in her armor; something to slip her up with. "So, by resisting the alleged brainwashing, you contend that it caused him to strike you?"

"I contend nothing." Calleigh said, beginning to feel fatigue settle in again. She fought to keep her energy up and her focus sharp. "I resisted and he struck me, then continued to torture me."

"Detective Duquesne, did I hear you correctly?" Powell's eyebrow went up. "You've just admitted to provoking my client into violence. Is that right?"

"Your client has a case history of abduction and torture. Provocation in this case is irrelevant." Calleigh explained. "There is a pattern of behavior established; I would have been beaten and tortured whether I resisted or not."

"Are you a religious woman, Detective?" Powell asked, hoping the abrupt change of direction would throw her off.

It momentarily made her stumble but she quickly adjusted to the new line of questioning. She knew his type and she normally ate lawyers like him for a morning snack. "Spiritual, yes."

"Do you belong to any religious organization here in Miami?" Powell asked.

"No, I do not."

"Why not; have you had a crisis in faith?" Powell said, trying to sound sympathetic. Father Dupree had referred to her as a heathen and a heretic. Maybe this is the chink... "It wouldn't be difficult to have that in your line of work."

"No, it's not like that. In a city that has enormously high Catholic and Jewish populations, finding an Episcopal church is like looking for a needle in a haystack." Calleigh replied lightly, earning a small amount of laughter from the jury.

"Did you have a religious upbringing?"

Bartlett stood. "Objection, Your Honor; relevancy?"

"Your Honor," Powell defended. "I'm just trying to establish the detective's religious background and any underlying attitude she might have toward my client based on his religious affiliation."

"Overruled, you may proceed. Detective, please answer the question."

"I was raised in the Episcopal Church." Calleigh stated.

"Would you say that you're devout?" Powell asked, sensing her reluctance to speak on her religion.

"Devout enough, devotion to one's faith is a private thing." Calleigh fought a wave of exhaustion. She would have to ask for a break very soon. "I keep my faith to myself. I find no need in broadcasting it."

"Do you hate Catholics?"

"No! My boss and my best friend are both Catholic." The question caught Calleigh so off guard that she actually laughed. "Why on earth would I hate Catholics? This isn't the Reformation, you know."

"Do you hate Father Dupree?"

Calleigh's laughter stilled.

"I thought I did, but I don't." Her voice became soft, yet loud enough for the jury to hear her. She looked at them. "What I feel for him is pity and a deep sadness that his faith has become so twisted that it forces him to act against the very vows he took when being ordained. He should be offering comfort and guidance yet he is forced to act in cruelty and violence; to offer pain when he should be offering comfort. Do I hate him? No. Do I hate what he did to me? Yes, I do. Can I differentiate between the two? Yes, I can."

Another, far stronger wave of exhaustion washed over her and she wavered slightly in the chair. "Your Honor, may we take a recess, please?"