Chapter 6: Chapter 6
HEARTLESS
Chapter 6 - A Conversation in the Park
"Eric, take this back to the lab. Do the usual - dust the case for prints, have Mike Denton run a sound analysis of the recording. You know the drill." Horatio handed the DVD and case, now ensconced in a baggie, to the CSI, and then turned his attention to Calleigh.
"Sister Mary-Martha is pulling a list together of the delivery people. I want you to take a look at it once she has it together. Find out what you can. I want to know who came in today, what time, and why. I want to know what was in each delivery. Someone deposited this little present here... I want to know who. Understand?"
Both CSIs nodded. Their boss seemed tense, his tone more clipped than usual; silence seemed a good option at the moment.
"I also want Ms. Kent's office searched. Let's get Ryan and Natalia on this. I want to find out if anyone's been in there who shouldn't have been."
Frank spoke up. "Perhaps the package wasn't delivered this morning. Think it could have been left sometime earlier, maybe during the night?"
"I don't know... I'm grasping at straws, Frank. If someone did get inside, maybe we can pick up some trace from him. Doesn't hurt to look around. Got any better ideas?" The sharpness of his tone quelled additional comment.
Horatio paused. He and his team members were standing outside the front of the church. His eyes wandered over to the Hummer. Catherine sat in the front, head resting against the back of the seat and her eyes closed.
Frank noticed the object of Horatio's attention. "She's had a nasty shock. D'you think she's okay?"
Frowning, Horatio shrugged. "I don't know. We'll soon find out." He turned his attention back to Calleigh and Eric. "What about you two - did you find out anything this morning?"
"Not a lot," said Eric. "We talked with the vic's best friend. Seems the girl was creeped out by some joker. Older guy, weird voice. Not a lot to go on."
Horatio's eyes grew alert. "Did she say what was weird about his voice?"
Calleigh spoke up. "She said Ms. Lopez mentioned that the voice was sort of burpy... gasping."
Horatio looked at Frank. "Did you notice anything odd about the voice on the DVD?"
"Christ," said Frank, "everything was odd about that DVD... but, yeah... the guy's voice was peculiar... like he had difficulty stringing too many words together. Like he was out of breath... think he has emphysema or something like that?"
"Who knows," said Horatio, thinking. "He could have been using some sort of device to disguise his voice. We'll see what Denton has to say." His eyes again turned toward the Hummer. "And Miss Kent."
"You think the guy on the recording is her old man?"
"I'm not sure. I intend to find out though."
"Well, good luck with that." Frank looked at the woman sitting in the car. "What did she call that recording? A 'valentine' from her husband? That's one hell of a valentine. Damned creepy – that old song, the voice... the weird sounds while the woman was screaming. Who would stage this sort of thing?"
"Who, indeed?" Horatio frowned. "We need to find out who that voice belongs to... I'm thinking he may be our connection between the murder of Ms. Lopez and the DVD Catherine received."
Horatio's frown deepened. "I've felt all along the killer was trying to send us a message... but perhaps it's Catherine the message is intended for... those screams on the recording, Frank... I don't think it was staged... I think it may have been our victim."
Frank nodded, his face grim. The thought had occurred to him.
As the men were speaking, they noticed Charlie come hobbling down the church steps toward the Hummer. "Frank, I'm going to see what Charlie wants. Calleigh, Eric – keep me posted. Tell Denton to make the sound analysis a priority, please."
Horatio intercepted Charlie before he reached the Hummer. "Charlie? Something you need?"
The older man stopped and squinted into the sunlight that was obscuring his view of Horatio's face. "I was going to speak with Sister Cat."
"Yes, I can see that. Charlie, this isn't a good time. Why don't you talk to me? What is it that you wanted to tell Ms. Kent?"
The man frowned and painfully shifted his considerable weight from his bad leg to his good, leaning heavily on the cane that supported him. "I just wanted to see how she was; I heard she fainted. I heard all that screaming, and then I heard about her passing out."
Horatio stared intently at the heavy man before him. There was something peculiar in the man's expression. "Charlie, are you sure you don't know how that package got into Ms. Kent's office?"
The man looked uncomfortable. "No sir... I don't know a goddam thing about it." Charlie paused, realizing he had slipped into profanity. "Beg your pardon, sir."
Horatio sighed. "Okay, Charlie. Look, I'll tell Ms. Kent you were concerned about her." He thought for a minute. "There is something you can do for her..."
Charlie looked happier. "What's that?"
"She's not coming back to the office today. We're going to search it, so it's going to be closed to everyone but my people. Here's the thing, can you get those cats out of her office? Maybe Sister Mary-Martha can take care of them."
"I'll take care of 'em. You tell Sister Cat she ain't got to worry about those kittens. I'll make sure they're okay."
"Good man. Thanks, Charlie."
Horatio watched as the man hobbled back toward the church. Charlie turned his head briefly, caught Horatio's eye, and then quickly looked away. Horatio didn't doubt the man's regard for Catherine, but something seemed not quite right.
Catherine opened her eyes and looked at him when Horatio, opening the door on the driver's side of the car, slid into the seat next to her. She watched as he pulled on his sunglasses. His manner was remote and she grew uneasy as he turned the ignition key and the vehicle came to life.
"Where are we going?" she asked as he pulled away from the curb.
"Away from here," he said tersely. "I could use a change of scenery... what about you?"
She sat up in the seat, suddenly concerned. "I can't just leave," she protested.
"You can – especially since your office is off limits for now. I'm having a team search it and dust for prints."
"What? You can't do that! That's... that's an invasion of privacy!"
Taking his eyes from the road, he glanced at her. "Got something to hide?"
"Of course not –"
"Then let it go. Let's take a ride."
Catherine just stared at him. He looked grim, and the sunglasses hid whatever emotion his eyes might chance to give away. She had the sudden unsettled feeling that she was the guilty party. But why? She'd done nothing wrong.
"Am I under arrest for something?"
"Nope."
"Then what is this all about?" she asked, puzzled.
"Just enjoy the ride. There will be time enough for explanations."
That seemed to be the end of it for him. He kept his gaze on the road and for several minutes said nothing. Then, out of the blue, he remarked, "Your cats are okay."
"What?"
"Your cats... they're okay. I had to clear them out of the office. Charlie is taking care of them... thought you'd want to know."
Again she considered protesting the disruption to her office, but thought better of it as she studied him. Remembering how kind – no, sweet – he'd been earlier, she wondered what had happened to the gentle man who had called her 'sweetheart' and who had lightly caressed her face. He now looked forbidding and unapproachable. Why?
Was it because she'd acted so childishly, passing out in the office? Well, if he knew... if he only knew...
Now, miles away from the church and that disturbing DVD, the phantoms of her past began to recede. Not completely – but enough that she could think rationally. The fear that had engulfed her back in the office was manageable again. It occurred to her that Horatio's distant manner was perhaps helping her regain control; had he been too sympathetic, she probably would have begun blubbering like a baby. The thought of so exposing herself caused a wave of self-loathing to course through her. She would not be a coward! She would not!
It was that song... that awful song. And the memories that came flooding back with the first few chords. It wasn't her heart that she'd left in San Francisco. It was her innocence. Never again would she be that innocent, that trusting. And never again would she feel entirely safe.
She wasn't safe. Not as long as he could still reach out to her. How had that been possible?
Deep in thought, she'd scarcely realized Horatio had pulled into a parking space near a quiet and pretty little park. He got out of the car and walked around to her side. Opening the door, he offered her his hand.
"C'mon, let's go for a walk." When at first she didn't move, he reached for her hand, and gently but firmly urged her from the car. "Let's go. We can both use a little fresh air."
Guiding her toward the mouth of a trail that went deep into the park, he sensed her reluctance to accompany him. "It's okay. It's peaceful here; it will give us a chance to talk."
He could see by her expression she wasn't crazy about the idea of talking, but at this point he didn't really care. She had information – he was sure of it. And he was determined to get it.
A vendor with a beverage and hot dog cart was stationed at the beginning of the trail. "You hungry?" he asked Catherine. She shook her head no. Turning to the merchant, he offered him a bill. "Couple of waters, please," he said.
"Here, take this." He handed one of the bottles over to Catherine. "It's a hot day, you'll need it."
They walked along in silence, down a pretty, meandering pathway. The park was quiet, and they saw no one. After passing several benches during their walk, Horatio finally pointed toward one and motioned they should sit.
He unscrewed the cap from his water and drank deeply, listening to the birds in the park. To Catherine's surprise, she started to relax in the peaceful setting. She felt far removed from what had transpired at Saint Ignatius. Sitting next to Horatio beneath a canopy of leafy green trees, she felt more tranquil. Tentatively, she opened her own water and took a sip.
Horatio watched her from behind his sunglasses. When she seemed calm, he began. "Okay, Catherine, let's talk about that recording... the voice on the DVD – was it familiar to you?"
"No... That was the first time I'd ever heard it."
"Are you sure?" he asked, removing his sunglasses and looking at her intently.
"Horatio, you heard that voice – how horrible it was! Could you ever forget it?"
"No... No, I don't suppose I could." He said nothing for a moment, playing with the side pieces of the sunglasses. "Tell me about your husband," he finally said.
He sensed the abrupt shudder that went through her and restrained himself from drawing her close. A part of him wanted to reach out to her and assure her that everything was okay. But stronger than that was twenty-five years of relying on a cop's instincts; he needed answers, and his instincts told him the best way to get them was by remaining unemotional. He glanced at her, watching as her lips moved soundlessly, as though she was having difficulty forming words.
After a moment, she gained control. "Joe," she whispered. "Joe Barton."
"Barton? But your last name is Kent..."
"After the divorce, I changed back to my maiden name."
"You're divorced?"
"You seem surprised," she said quietly.
He shrugged slightly. "I am... before you fainted, you said the recording was a valentine from your husband."
She drew a deep breath. "I was upset... I misspoke."
"How long have been you been divorced?"
"Three years."
"So you haven't seen him in three years?"
"I haven't seen him in five years. Not since he was imprisoned."
"What's he in prison for?"
Catherine's gaze nervously scanned the trees and shrubs. In spite of the day's heat, a clammy chill traveled up her arms. What had seemed so pretty and peaceful earlier now seemed deserted and dangerous. Were they alone? Was anyone watching? Would she ever be safe again?
"Catherine?" he prompted.
She met Horatio's eyes. "Murder. He's in prison for murder."
"How much do you know about me, Horatio?"
"Not much," he acknowledged, looking into her pretty eyes. "Why don't you enlighten me?"
Sighing heavily, she paused, unsure how to begin. Horatio waited. He needed her to open up – for her sake as much as that of the murdered Theresa Lopez.
"My family is prominent in the business community... we were founders of a large law firm that specializes in corporate law. Maybe you've heard of them – Kent, Barton & Craig.
"My grandfather and several of his closest friends established the firm during the 1940s. It quickly grew in prominence and prestige. So did the inflated egos. You see, Kent, Barton & Craig is not just a law firm; it's a 'family'. Our own rarified little community – we know the 'best' people and only the 'best' people. We don't mix with outsiders very much." Horatio heard the derision in her voice.
"You see, we don't deem them worthy of us." Short, bitter laughter made its way past her lips. "An amusing thought, in retrospect. From a young age, Horatio, it was hammered into our heads that the firm is everything, the firm provides, the firm protects, and only members of the firm are trustworthy confidantes and companions. The firm is the family."
"Well," remarked Horatio, "that's rather bizarre, isn't it? Damned peculiar... did everyone feel this strange allegiance?"
She nodded. "Pretty much. We'd take vacations together, gather for group holidays... our parents, aunts and uncles, encouraged us to seek our friends and partners within the group. Over the years, minus the occasional exception, we've become a closed society with a lot of marrying within our circle. We all go to law school and we all stay in the 'family'. End of story."
Horatio's brows rose. "Well, not quite... You're not part of the firm. What did you call it? 'A closed society'... Tell me, how did all that togetherness sit with you?"
"Growing up, it was all I knew. My father had married outside the firm... my mother was well connected in South America. Her parents ran a large coffee plantation. His marriage to my mother was seen as advantageous to the firm... extending their influence. Even so, my father went to his father for permission to marry her. It's just the way we did things.
"Until my divorce... until my association with Saint Ignatius, all of my contacts had been confined to the firm. We went to the same churches, universities, law schools. There was always someone from our inner circle nearby. You were never lonely. It was... comforting. At least back then... It wasn't until later that I questioned any of it. Much later. After my marriage to Joe, in fact.
"It was the same for Joe... and I sometimes wonder if that lack of... diversity... played a part in what he later became. He had no judgment in spite of his brilliance. And, in the end, no empathy... or compassion."
Horatio watched Catherine's face as she said these things. Her words struck him as enigmatic and fantastical. A law firm that operated as a closed society?
"It never occurred to me to try to break away from any of it... not until things spiraled out of control... it's not an easy thing to do, leaving the family's influence."
"Yet, you did manage to break away."
"Professionally? Yes... to a certain extent. But I'm still part of the 'family'. You can't escape your heritage, Horatio, no matter how much you try. And I have tried... I have tried."
Catherine's words disturbed Horatio. There was an element of truth to them that darkened his outlook momentarily. How many times had the influence of his own dysfunctional family reached out to reclaim him, reclaim his brother? And often at times least expected. He'd be on top of the world, feeling that life was good – and something from his past would suddenly rear up and cause him to despair that he could ever escape the Caine family legacy. These were disquieting periods, and a depression would settle over him, and he'd wonder if he'd always be the guarded kid who struggled fruitlessly to control an unhappy and uncertain existence.
Yes, it's an ugly truth, he thought. For good or bad, we remain the product of our upbringing.
Wanting to leave the sour thought behind, he forced his attention back to Catherine's words.
"... Still, I'm the odd duck in the family, leaving behind the practice of law... trying to carve out a new life. A life they have little sympathy for, and even less patience."
She stopped speaking and began fiddling with the cap on her water bottle.
"Tell me about Joe," said Horatio abruptly, realizing she was reluctant to continue. "Like you, he was a member of the firm?"
She stared at the bottle in her hands and nodded. "Josiah Barton III, named for his grandfather. His grandfather was my own grandfather's best friend and partner in establishing the firm."
"I gather you saw him at the firm's gatherings? Is that how you got to know him?"
She nodded. "The first time I saw him I was a young girl... perhaps fourteen or so. I had such a crush on him. He was eight years older, and he seemed so... so smooth, so sophisticated. He was tall, good-looking, charming. He was magnetic, really. He drew your attention to him." She shivered suddenly. "Hard to believe it, but I was crazy about him at the time, but so were were all the girls in our circle.
"Because of the age difference, he didn't pay much attention to me beyond the casual hello. It would have been best if it had stayed that way."
Catherine unscrewed the cap on her water bottle, and took a long drink. Horatio watched her from the side, noting the working of her slender throat. There was something vulnerable in the movement, and it touched him. She talked with assurance, but there was no mistaking the undercurrent of fear in her voice when she spoke of her ex-husband.
"But things didn't stay that way, did they?" he asked gently, determined to hear the rest of the story.
"No, they didn't. Ten years went by... I finished university, then law school. Upon graduation I went to work for the firm."
Horatio looked at her with some surprise.
"You seem astonished," she smiled.
"It's just... well, it's a far cry from what you're doing now. I didn't realize that you'd actually practiced law. How did you like it?"
"Like it?" She looked puzzled. "Whether or not I liked it wasn't part of the equation, Horatio. It was expected that I'd join the firm. Anyone with any aptitude went to law school... that was the understanding.
"Once I began working for the firm, it was decided by the partners that I'd be sent to San Francisco. An important branch office was being opened. It was a big deal – and it was being headed up by Joe, who had moved there a few years prior as part of its establishment.
"Joe's a very analytical man, very precise and detailed. He was the perfect person for the firm to place in charge of the new office. Not only was he the most dynamic male of our generation, he was the smartest. I think the partners considered him the ultimate flowering of the firm's social policy of intermarriage between its members. Bright, outgoing, good looks – he seemed to have it all."
Horatio cocked his head. "It's been my experience that no one has it all, Catherine."
"Maybe not, but he was something in those days, Horatio. He'd walk into a room and people would pay attention. Corny as it sounds, the air around him seemed to come alive with electricity. He had influence. People responded to him. I know I did. I was mesmerized.
"You see, I'd always been the Plain Jane of my circle – pretty enough, but nothing special. My parents called me 'the smart one'. Well, maybe not so smart, in hindsight. But imagine my surprise, how thrilled I was, when it seemed I'd captured the notice of the charismatic Joe Barton. What a time that was..." Her eyes softened, losing focus slightly, as they seemed to go to some faraway place that only she could see.
"He took me under his wing when I arrived. At first, everything was business... but that slowly began to change. He made me feel pretty, Horatio..."
"But you are pretty, Catherine," he answered softly.
Her eyes focused and she turned to him. "You're kind. I'm pretty enough, I guess. But Joe... he made me feel desirable, sensual. Around him, I felt exciting and provocative. It was a new experience for me. He has the most incredible eyes... I've never seen eyes like his before. Very pale blue, almost colorless... but when he'd look at me in those days, they would seem to light up from somewhere deep inside him. It was... extraordinary. Exciting."
A shadow crossed her face. "Later, those eyes lit up with things stranger than love or passion... I couldn't stand to look at them any longer!" She closed her eyes briefly, as if trying to will a memory away.
A moment later, she opened them. Looking at Horatio, she shrugged. "These are not pleasant things to remember."
He spoke earnestly, his eyes suddenly sympathetic. "I know that... but I need to understand."
Catherine nodded. "I know... okay...
"I was only supposed to be in the Bay Area for six months. During that time, Joe took me all over town – restaurants, bars, museums. What's the old-fashioned phrase? Swept me off my feet. Yes, that's exactly it. He introduced me to all sorts of people in the Bay Area. Important people." She offered Horatio a twisted smile, remembering. "He was proud of me. He liked introducing me to people.
"It was romantic. And when it was time for me to return to Miami, he didn't want me to go. Nor did I want to. I was feeling melancholy at the prospect... On what was to have been my last night in San Francisco, he took me out to dinner and at the end of the meal – in front of all the other patrons – he got down on one knee... And he asked me to marry him. It was very dramatic... like a scene from an old black-and-white movie."
Horatio shook his head. "A proposal after only six months?"
She nodded.
"And you said yes?"
"I did. I was in love with him. I felt like Cinderella, staying late at the ball. So stupid. I realize that now." She was silent for a moment.
"But, Horatio, he was different then. How could I have known he would change so much?" she asked, her voice suddenly tense. She squeezed relentlessly the plastic bottle she held in her hands. "How could I have known? There were no signs... not then."
Horatio reached over and removed the crushed bottle from her fingers. "When did things begin to change?"
"About a year into our marriage... when we became acquainted with Emerson and Faith Fosdick."
Nodding to Calleigh and Eric, Tom Loman walked into Mike Denton's lab room. "Calleigh, Eric... you paged me? You need something from me?"
"That's right, Tom," said Calleigh, wearing a winsome smile. "We'd like you to listen to something, and give us your opinion."
Eric pointed toward Denton. "Yeah, Tom, we need you to listen to some sound fragments from a DVD. Mike, you want to explain?" he asked.
"Sure," said Mike. "Look, Doc, this DVD has several layers of sound data, but for the moment we're interested in two, and I've segmented them out for your listening enjoyment."
Loman smiled. "Enjoyment, heh? Okay. I don't see what this has to do with me, but I'm game."
"Okay. You ready?"
Loman nodded.
Denton hit a button and he and the others focused on a monitor that displayed a moving graph of electronic noise patterns. Minus the music, screaming and other background noise heard earlier by Horatio, Catherine and Frank, the small party listened attentively to the isolated voice coming through the speakers.
Calleigh rubbed her arms as she listened to the ghoulish inflection, trying to massage out the shiver that suddenly washed over her. Eric kept his eyes on Loman, wondering what the doctor would make of the strange voice they were hearing.
Again Calleigh shuddered, listening to the whispery, laughing voice: That's right, miss, sing along... sing your heart out!
The voice playback suddenly ended and all eyes in the room turned toward Loman.
"Well!" said Tom, his expression puzzled. "That was charming. I still don't understand... what can I do for you?"
"Tom, the man's voice," replied Calleigh, "did you notice its strangeness?"
Loman took a deep breath, thinking. "Hm... yes. I did. It was labored. He was laboring to get each word out." He frowned. "Mr. Denton, can you replay the voice again, please?"
Denton did, and Loman listened intently. When the segment concluded, Tom nodded. "Yes, a definite effort to get the words out."
"What might cause that?" asked Eric.
"A compromised larynx... or an injured trachea." Tom's brows drew together. "This fellow commit a murder?"
"We don't know, Tom," replied Calleigh.
"The, uh, air that ran between his words... I've heard those sounds before. It's the noise of air being pushed through scarred tissue as it enters and exits the throat. I'd say this gentleman at some point in his past sustained serious damage to the trachea, perhaps even the larynx."
"Scar tissue?" Eric thought about that. "So it wouldn't be a recent injury?"
"I shouldn't think so. It would take time for the scar tissue to form... I would guess the injury occurred several years ago."
"So much for checking the hospitals," remarked Calleigh quietly, to no one in particular.
"Ready for the next segment?" asked Denton, looking at Eric.
"Next segment?" asked Loman.
Eric nodded. "Yeah... what do you think this noise is? We're going to play the DVD in its entirety, then go back and isolate one particular sound. Tell us what you think."
Denton hit the play button, and the DVD's eerie music filled the room. Loman's face was expressionless until he heard the noise Eric had made reference to... accompanied at the same time by screaming from the woman on the recording.
When it concluded, Eric was about to have Denton replay the segment, minus the music and the screaming. Loman stopped him.
"That won't be necessary, Mr. Delko. I can identify that sound without hearing the recording again."
Calleigh looked at him. "What do you think it is, Tom?"
Loman's lips folded into a thin line of regret. "It's the sound of a surgical saw... at work. Whoever was screaming on that recording is very likely dead."
Fat Jack Tolliver stood outside Josiah Barton's cell, quietly studying the inmate within. The man lay on the prison cot, his arms folded beneath his head, staring sightlessly at the stained ceiling above him.
"Well, dearie," said the fat man, "your little secret errand was accomplished. I had the boy contact your pigeon. Creepy he was, too... the boy was nearly scared shitless. Just what was that all about, darlin'? What nasty piece of business is it you're up to?"
The inmate sat up slowly, turning enigmatic eyes toward Tolliver. "Thank you, Mr. Tolliver, I appreciate your... cooperation. As for the rest of it, I don't think you really need to know anything more. In fact, I don't think you'd really want to... would you?"
Looking into the man's eyes, Tolliver had an uneasy feeling he was standing at the Gates of Hell. If there was a soul behind those pale blue eyes, he couldn't see it.
"No, dearie," he replied, thinking better of things and slowly backing away from the cell. "No, I don't think I would."
To be continued.