GOOD MAN TURNED BAD?

Chapter 8

Horatio braved the lab the next day. His face still showed the ravages of the previous day. Added to that, he had hardly slept, and he certainly hadn't eaten. The combination was leaving him mildly dizzy, and he kept his sunglasses handy and maintained his story of developing a cold. He retreated to his office, hoping to be left alone, but it was not long before Calleigh joined him.

She gazed sympathetically at him. "You look rough, boss…"

"Yeah…"

"Why don't you go home? We can manage, you know."

"Come on." He forced a smile. "You know me better than that."

"Yes, I do. After all, who stayed on duty after a gunshot?"

He didn't reply to that, remembering just how unwise that decision had probably been. "No offense, and I'm always glad to see you, but… did you want something?"

"I wondered how you were," she said honestly. "But I can see… Not that great…"

He felt he was being read like a book. He realised she didn't buy the 'cold' story for a second. They'd known each other too long. He sighed. "No, not great."

"Are you still seeing -? I'm sorry," she interrupted herself. "It's none of my business."

"I think it probably is, in the circumstances," he said gently. "Yes, I am. And it's hard going. And I will tell you about it… But not yet."

She nodded. "Horatio… Just remember, I'm always here…"

"I will." But he realised that anyone being kind to him at the moment was oddly painful, and he willed her to go.

If he had plans for a quiet day, they were rudely interrupted, when a call came in from Frank Tripp about a siege situation currently unfolding.

"Why us?" Horatio spoke to Frank on the phone. "Isn't it a job for a hostage negotiator or at worst SWAT?"

"There's already one body - a woman, thrown out of the window… So you guys will be involved. There's at least one kid inside, being held hostage… It could be a nasty one. Thought you'd want in."

"Fair enough - give me the address…" He actually wondered if he was up to it, but it looked like he had little choice. "I'll see you there."

He collected Eric on the way to the garage.

"You can drive." He tossed the keys to the newest of the Hummers to his colleague and got into the passenger seat.

Eric drove fast, on lights and siren. "Heard you weren't well."

"Bit of a cold… You'll probably catch it."

Eric chuckled. "Expect I'll live. So what are we going to?"

Horatio repeated what Frank had said.

Eric was incredulous. "Someone thrown out of a window?"

"So Frank says."

What they found was a stand-off. The house was in a good neighbourhood, with a long front yard. A SWAT team, just arrived, was being held back. On the ground, near the house, a crumpled and motionless female body. A man sat astride an upstairs window-sill, with what appeared to be a gun held against the head of a young boy. Horatio and Eric joined Frank Tripp.

"Where's the negotiator?" Horatio asked urgently.

"On his way. Stuck in traffic, would you believe? Not sure we can wait. He's jittery."

"Wonderful! What about her?" He gestured to the body. "Do we know she's dead?"

"He says he's going to shoot if anyone goes to look…"

Eric touched his boss's arm. "I'll go. I'll borrow a vest."

"No, you won't," Horatio said quickly. "If anyone goes, it's me. And we can't risk the child…"

Frank snapped. "Neither of you's going! I don't intend to lose anyone to this scumbag! Including the hostage."

While it was true that Horatio held the higher rank, it was Frank's show. He was virtually there by invitation… He moved back to talk to the SWAT commander. "I presume you can't get a shot…?"

"Not while he's holding the boy like that."

Horatio nodded, and moved back to stand by Eric.

Eric murmured, "What are you thinking?"

"I don't know…" He looked back at Frank. "Is there a back way?"

"Thought of that. Only down that side passage - in view of our perp… And we don't know if there's access, even then."

"We should look… Eric and I can go… We'll go round the block and get in from the house behind…"

"If he hears you, he'll shoot."

"He won't hear us. Frank… give us five minutes, then distract him. Nothing major - just move a few guys about, start a car engine. Don't rattle him, but keep him eyes front. If we can't get in silently, we'll come back. OK?"

The back door of the house was closed. Horatio put a careful hand on the handle. Inch by inch he lowered it, praying that his hand didn't slip, that the door didn't spring open with a clatter. And that it wasn't locked. Then, from the front, he heard the sound of the big SWAT wagon starting its engine, mouthed, "Thank you, Frank," and silently pushed the door open. Only after he'd done it, did he wonder if there were others in the house. He swallowed a wave of nausea at the realisation of his carelessness, but he seemed to have got away with it. The place was silent.

He indicated to Eric to take his shoes off, doing the same himself. "Turn your phone off. Then not a word," he whispered. "Silent as the grave…"

They crept, foot by tentative foot, across a kitchen, a hall, and onto the stairs. Outside, there were raised voices - Horatio hoped it was part of the distraction, rather than the start of something. He inched up the staircase, close to the wall, feeling for creaking boards. Upstairs, directly ahead, a door stood slightly ajar. He signalled to Eric to stop. His leg muscles were trembling from the strain of the stealthy approach, but his hands were steady. He wiped his palms on his pants then relevelled his gun, as he slid silently across the three feet of floor to the crack in the door.

The man was perched on the window-sill, a boy of about nine held against his chest. He was looking away from them, apparently intent on the activity outside. The gun looked like a nine-mill, a real one… It could have been a replica… No way of knowing. Horatio moved back a few inches, against the wall, desperate that the man didn't catch any movement out of the corner of his eye. He signalled to Eric to be prepared to push the door open. He took a deep breath, mouthed "One, two, three…" and, as Eric pushed the door wide, shot the man on the window-sill in the head. The man crumpled to the floor, Eric caught and held the child, and Horatio, suddenly light-headed and exhausted, sank into a nearby chair.

Late the following afternoon, he stood with Cecile Fournier in her kitchen, as she made coffee.

"You were on the news…" she said.

"I know. A boy hostage… Mother dead already. Real mess…"

"You saved the boy."

He sighed. "I splattered him with his stepfather's brains…"

"I assume you had no option."

"There are always options, Cecile. But no, I didn't think so, at the time."

She nodded, handing him a coffee. He followed her back into the main room, and they sat down.

"How do you feel about it?"

"That we all could have handled it better. As I said, real mess…"

"Not your fault, Horatio." She saw him about to protest. "I mean it, no guilt trips."

He fell silent, sipping the coffee.

After a while, Cecile said quietly, "I've been worried about you."

"Why? You mean, last time?" He thought for a moment. "Can you explain it to me? Why I went to pieces, over something like that?"

Cecile was silent for a while. "I'll try to help you understand… As far as I understand it - as I said, it's not an exact science…"

"If it was, I'd have it under the microscope by now…"

"I'm going to say one or two things that I think I've learned about you… It's not the way therapists usually do it. The received wisdom is that the patient needs to make his own discovery, or it's not valid. But you're a slightly unusual case, in that I think your hardest job is admitting how much things actually affect you…"

"I'm here, aren't I? And I have tried to tell you how I feel… I haven't been hiding anything…"

"We've been talking about 'effect' - the shut-down emotions, the lack of satisfaction in the job, the sporadic violence… I want to look at causes… A lot of people I've seen over the years… the cause is obvious, and we deal with the effects… I saw some of the fire-fighters after 9/11... No doubt about the cause. You… well, you're different… I know your job takes you into really bad situations, like yesterday, and I know you've often had to take lives in the line of duty… and I really don't think that's what's thrown you so badly off track. You seem - to me - to handle all that very well…"

"Lots of practise…"

"Exactly."

"So?"

"So it's probable that the job isn't the cause. I've been thinking about your personal life - what I know about it…"

He chuckled briefly. "I don't have one really."

"That may be part of the problem - and we can come back to it - but that wasn't where I was going. I started to list what I saw as 'personal' events. Things that have happened to you that aren't directly down to your job… Certainly things that aren't your fault, although…" She hesitated. "You can challenge me if you want to… But it's such a list, even I was shocked… Do you need me to spell it out?"