GOOD MAN TURNED BAD?

Chapter 3

As they approached the lab, Horatio said quietly, "You know I'm going to feel everyone's watching me…"

"I was afraid you would. They're not, you know. I am, I suppose, and Eric's conscious that you're not yourself, but we don't sit and discuss you. The others aren't 'watching you' - not in the sense you mean."

"What about Natalia? I should see her…"

"No, actually, I don't think you should. I'll talk to her. I've told her I'll handle it - she has to let me."

"Do you think I should stay in the lab? Stay out of the field?"

His tone almost broke her heart. She parked the Hummer and switched off the engine. "This is exactly what I didn't want to happen. I've hurt you…"

"Calleigh, I've hurt myself. I'm just asking for your advice."

"I think you should probably work as normal. You could take sick leave - no one would blame you - but I think being stuck on your own, at home… isn't going to help." She hesitated, and he was conscious of what a difficult position he had put her in.

"Calleigh, you're my deputy. If you think I shouldn't be here, say so. You're perfectly capable of running the show."

"Stop it." She took his hand again. "It's your 'show'. Always has been. I hope, always will be. We want you here, but we want you well. And you're not. So just let us - me - help. If you're going out, take me or Eric. Otherwise, just go on as normal. You're still brilliant at the job, and a brilliant boss."

"Hardly."

"Oh, you are. You're the guiding light… The reason this group of people functions so well, the reason they'll put their own comfort and safety into second place if necessary. Who do you think they take that lead from?"

"You don't need to flatter me."

"I wouldn't. You know me better than that. Come on, let's go in." As they walked towards the building, she added quietly, "Nothing's changed. No one's gossiping. Just leave things with me… And be a bit kinder to yourself."

Horatio sat in his office for a full hour, staring, unseeing, at the papers in front of him, while a cup of coffee grew cold on the desk. Unusually, no phones rang, no emails came through, no one knocked at the door. He felt… he wasn't sure… stripped bare, flayed… his tough confident exterior breached. Knowing he was struggling with the job was one thing. Having other people know, quite another. Yet he could hardly feel surprised.

He had dated the start of his problems back to the prison break… Not that he was sure, but it was the nearest he could get… Nine months… Nine months of trying to recapture vicious men, who knew all the moves, as well as deal with the regular workload. He knew that alone wasn't sufficient explanation for how he felt. He was hardly unaware of his own reputation and his matchless record. Once, all that would just have been a challenge, even something to be savored. Yet it had turned into a hard relentless unforgiving slog. He didn't think he'd lost his edge, could still outmaneuver the criminals, but he got no satisfaction from it. He was tired. Physically, because he wasn't sleeping or eating properly… Although it was a bit Catch-22… If he didn't feel so bad mentally, the physical side would take care of itself. And if he felt physically well, then maybe he could pull himself out of his depression. As it was, he was conscious only of an ever downwards spiral.

The thought of a full investigation into his latest bout of aggression didn't particularly worry him. He would have no option but to make a full admission, but he knew Calleigh was right - he was unlikely to get more than a warning. It seemed trivial compared to the level of despair that was eating away at him.

So he would wait for Calleigh to conjure up some competent - female - shrink. He would see her, though he had little faith that it would do any good. He could recite his childhood woes, his career highs and lows, whatever it took… He would remember Speed… And Ray… Even talk about Mari… He could not imagine how this unknown woman - this stranger - would miraculously uncover a cause for his current misery, let alone cure it. He had always been cynical about so-called 'talking therapy', and knew that was unlikely to change in a hurry. However, he also knew he had to try. For the sake of his team, if not himself. He was aware that if he wasn't functioning properly, someone was likely to get hurt, and it might not be him. Despite what Calleigh had said, he wondered if he should remove himself from the front line… If not… well, he just had to try harder…

It took him the best part of the day to shake off the effect of his conversation with Calleigh. He hoped for a new case, something to take his mind off it, but, again unusually, it turned out to be a very quiet day. Once he felt he could concentrate again, he settled down to paperwork, collating evidence for court cases, writing up recent investigations. He was due to begin appraisals of his team, but, today, that was beyond him, and he put that task to one side.

He went home early, spent the evening brooding, went to bed. And didn't sleep.

It was two days before he had a further private conversation with Calleigh. This time, she came into his office and sat down uninvited.

She smiled. "How are you?"

He shrugged. "You know… Have you heard anymore about Leverbrook? I haven't…"

"I'm dealing with it."

He was startled. "Hey, don't put your neck on the block for me."

"I'm not."

"I mean it, Calleigh. I'm quite prepared to take whatever consequences there are."

"I know you are. That's not why I'm here…" She pushed a small business card across his desk.

"A shrink?"

"A psycho-therapist… She may suit you. She may not."

He read the card. "'Cecile Fournier' - French?"

"She is, although she's been in this country for twenty years or more."

"How do you know her?"

"I don't really. I more know of her… long story. She's semi-retired, in her sixties… Made her career working with the military… post-traumatic stress and so on." She noted his raised eyebrows. "Your prejudices are showing, H… She worked with police forces too. Put it this way, she's used to hard men, men who won't let down their guard or admit they need help."

He forced a smile. "Sounds… appropriate… Have you made me an appointment?"

"Of course not - it's up to you. Look, I'll help you all I can, but I don't want to push you into anything. I think she'll suit you, but if you try, and you're not comfortable, I'll look for someone else."

"All right. I've got to try, haven't I?"

"I think you should." She hesitated. "You know… it's not going to be a magic solution, don't you? It could take a very long time…"

"I know."

"And you do know I'm always here, if you want to talk…?"

"I know that too. And I may take you up on it" His smile this time was genuine. "You're a good friend, Calleigh."

"I hope so."

After she left, he picked up the card, and, before he changed his mind, called the number. The voice that answered him was warm, with the faintest trace of a French accent. For almost the first time in his life, he didn't know what to say.

"My name's Horatio Caine…"

"Ah, the head of the Miami crime lab…"

"You know?"

"I could say, you're famous… And I have heard your name - it is, after all, quite unusual. But that's a bit unfair - your colleague, Miss Duquesne, called me…"

"What did she tell you?" He felt at a slight disadvantage, which unsettled him.

"She only wanted to find out if I was still practising… I retired to Florida to sit in the sun… But it quickly bored me, so, yes, I am still practising…"

"I'm glad… What do I call you? Doctor…?"

"You call me Cecile. Unless you'd rather be more formal."

"No, I'm not really the formal type." There was a silence, which he felt compelled to break. "So… I suppose… Could I make an appointment with you?"

"Certainly. We have to meet… We have to discover whether we can work together. I don't know anything about you - Miss Duquesne was, of course, totally discreet. So, let's arrange something…."

As he finished the call, having arranged a meeting for the next day, he realised he was shaking slightly. It was ridiculous… He felt no nerves when interrogating a suspect, none when he was under cross-examination in a court of law, not a tremor in an IAB enquiry… Yet now, the thought of baring his soul - he presumed that was what he was expected to do - to an elderly French woman was making him profoundly uneasy.