HEARTLESS

Chapter Nine - The Puzzle of Catherine

Parked outside Catherine's hotel, Horatio sat quietly for several minutes, lost in thought. Catherine believed Barton was still in San Francisco, and that created a dilemma for Horatio. Her reaction to Barton made him uneasy. While the story she'd shared with him was bad, Horatio couldn't escape the feeling that she was holding something back. He debated whether he should mention that Barton was now sitting in a jail cell in Miami.

Catherine worried him. She was on the edge. Her demeanor at dinner the night before concerned him. He didn't like the way she'd been looking at the wine bottle, as if it held the answer to her problems.

Annoyed by his indecision, he frowned. He'd always played it straight with people in danger. This was no time to change tactics. Catherine needed to know Barton wasn't in San Francisco.

It was time to stop babying her.

Making up his mind, Horatio exited the car and headed to the hotel's large revolving doors. As soon as he entered the lobby, his phone began to buzz. He found a chair in a quiet area between two large potted palms and sat down.

"Horatio Caine," he said, not recognizing the number.

"Lieutenant Caine, this is Warden Pennyworth. Had a message you called. What can I do for you?"

Now that he had the warden of the Miami-Dade Correctional Facility on the line, Horatio wasn't sure where to begin.

"Warden," he said slowly, "you have an inmate in your facility… Josiah Barton."

There was a pause on the other end. "Barton? Yes… I'm familiar with the name. What's your interest?"

"A girl was brutally murdered a few nights ago; I think he might have some connection to what happened."

"That's hard to believe, Lieutenant. We keep a close watch on Barton… he's an odd duck. He has few visitors. I don't see how he could be involved."

"He's just a person of interest at this point. I only want to ask him a few questions." And get a look at this guy Catherine's so frightened of, he thought.

"I run a tight ship, Lieutenant… I know what goes on inside this place. Barton's one of the guys we keep on a short leash. I like to keep things easy here, keep to a routine. Prevents things from getting out of hand. You come in here, asking questions, you may cause a situation we don't need. I don't see how questioning Barton is going to help you."

Horatio said nothing, waiting the man out.

After a moment, the warden sighed. "Well, I can't prevent you from visiting him. Very well. One caveat, Lieutenant. I want his guard present. There's something about Barton…"

Horatio sat up slightly. "What do you mean?"

"You know he comes from money, right?"

"I'd heard."

"Well, you can't but help wonder how a guy like that ends up here. Smooth, educated, all the advantages. Before I met him, I assumed it was issues with anger management."

"And now?"

The warden hesitated. "He has this way of looking at you… through you. It's eerie. Look, I think you better draw your own conclusions. When you get here, ask for Jack Tolliver. He's a capable man, keeps order. Just the sort to deal with Barton. I'll want him in the room with you at all times."

"Warden, is that really necessary? Can't the guard wait outside? Having Tolliver in the room might prevent Barton from talking."

"This is not negotiable, Lieutenant. I can't explain it to you, but I want Tolliver inside the room."

Well, this is damned odd, thought Horatio. "Alright, sir. I'll plan to come this afternoon. Is that acceptable?"

"Fine. Remember – ask for Tolliver."

Horatio slipped the phone into his pocket and stood up. The conversation had made him uneasy.

He suspected that what the Warden hadn't said was at least as important as what he had.

Nodding to the police guard stationed outside Catherine's hotel door, he rapped sharply several times, prepared to call out his identity in the event she was too frightened to open the door.

Instead, the door swept open, and the sight that greeted him caused his eyes to widen with surprise.

Instead of the plain dressed woman he'd left the night before, he found himself looking straight into the eyes of a stunning beauty. For a moment, he couldn't speak, and Catherine enjoyed his discomfiture. Her deep blue eyes sparkled, and she reached for his hand, quickly drawing him inside the room.

"Lieutenant," she said, smiling.

"Catherine..." His eyes swept her from head to toe, taking in her much improved appearance. A low, appreciative whistle escaped him. "You look..."

"Okay?" There was an inviting and teasing lilt in her voice.

"More than okay," he said swiftly. "You look beautiful."

And she did: her shiny, short black hair curled in gentle waves around her face, drawing attention to her eyes and elegant cheekbones. On her lips was a pale, rose-colored lip-gloss, and Horatio wondered briefly if the gloss was flavored.

Instead of the serviceable navy blue dresses and plain shoes she been wearing since he'd met her, she was now dressed in a short pink skirt, stiletto heels in the same shade, and a sky blue sweater. The sweater particularly caught his attention. The neckline stopped short of showing any cleavage, but the soft fabric hugged her curves in a way Horatio found pleasantly distracting.

"You seem surprised," she said, grinning.

"That you're lovely? Not at all, but I am surprised at the swan-like metamorphosis. Mind if I ask, what gives? Last night when I left, you seemed on the edge of losing control. I was worried about you."

"I'm sorry you were worried," she said softly, noting the creases in his forehead. With a gentle touch, she lightly trailed her fingers across them, trying to smooth away the careworn lines. "But it's nice to know you're concerned about my well-being."

"Never doubt it," he said, enjoying the soft caress.

She allowed her hand to fall to her side and turned away, smiling at Horatio from over her shoulder. Sitting down in one of the suite's overstuffed chairs, she slowly crossed one leg over the other, affording him a generous view of long limbs.

He raised his brows slightly, and shook his head, perplexed. This was a side of Catherine he hadn't before seen. "C'mon, Catherine, why the change in mood and, um, apparel?"

He walked over to the large coffee table across from her chair and sat down on its edge. Leaning forward, his hands clasped loosely between his knees, he stared at her, unsure what to think.

She laughed softly. "It's no big mystery. Do you think I always wear plain clothes? I often have meetings with corporations and philanthropists to keep the funding alive for the Kitchen. It's important to dress up for those occasions. But while working in the church, I stick to plainer clothing. It makes more sense."

She leaned back into the cushions and yawned slightly. "I'm feeling much more relaxed this morning."

I'll say, he thought, continuing to study her. Something wasn't quite right. She was too relaxed. "So… no more worries about your ex-husband?"

"Oh, I'm still worried," she replied, and for a moment, Horatio saw a frisson of fear cross her eyes. Perversely, it reassured him. He didn't want her too relaxed. It also made this new Catherine slightly more recognizable to him.

"I'm worried, but I'm tired of being frightened, of looking over my shoulder. He's miles away on the West Coast. He can't hurt me from California."

Horatio frowned. How was he going to tell her that Barton was in Miami? Incarcerated – true. Even so, he was in a cell less than 50 miles from where they sat.

"Catherine, I read Joe's police report today. You weren't quite honest with me."

"What do you mean?"

"You told me your husband was in prison for murder. I read the police report today - that's not totally correct."

Horatio watched as she shifted in the chair, obviously uncomfortable. "There was a girl..."

"Yes, there was... Tessa Bainbridge." Catherine sounded sad.

"According to the report, he beat her badly."

She nodded, her eyes dark at the memory. "She was in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"Did you know her? It happened in the garage of your apartment building."

"No... lots of people lived in the building. It wasn't until after it happened that I became aware of her."

"Were you still living with Joe?"

"No, I'd made a run for it several days before it happened."

"A run for it? You ran away?"

Catherine bit her lip, annoyed with her poor choice of words. "I mean I moved out."

"That's not what you said. You said you made a run for it."

She looked away. "It was a long time ago; is this necessary?"

Horatio felt his temper stir in spite of his efforts to control it. Why wouldn't she talk to him?

"Catherine, if it weren't necessary, do you think I'd ask?" he said, his voice sharp. "I need to understand what sort of man Joe is. We've had a murder which involved the removal of a girl's heart. Then there was that DVD - and guess what? Our lab confirmed the noise in the background - remember that? Our medical guy said it was the sound of a surgical saw making contact with bone. No wonder the person on that DVD was screaming. And the song lyrics - 'I left my Heart in San Francisco' - what does that mean? Is that Joe's calling card to you? Christ, Catherine, if it's a calling card, who knows when he'll strike again to grab your attention. Who will be the next victim? Will it be you?"

Frustrated, he dragged a hand through his hair. "We're up against the clock; I don't know who he has working with him on the outside, but we need to figure it out. He's pulling the goddam strings from his cell in Miami!"

Catherine sat up abruptly. "What? Joe's not in Miami… he's in California."

He hadn't meant for the news to come out this way but since it had, he decided to make use of her fear to get some information. "No, he's here - in Miami."

"But that can't be," she whispered, looking away from him. "The family would have told me! They made the charges go away - but the price for doing so was Joe's admission to a psychiatric hospital. At least that is what they told me. I'd have been alerted if he'd been released, if he were in the Miami area!" Her eyes met his. "His mother was especially determined he'd get treatment. Even she realized something wasn't right with him. She would have told me! Are you sure about this?"

"Very sure. I'm going to go talk to him this afternoon." He watched for her reaction.

"How... why is he in jail?"

"He tried to strangle a girl in a nightclub. The Alahambra... ever hear of it? Ever go there?"

"Do I seem the night club type?" she asked, suddenly angry and on edge. The news about Joe's presence in Miami had unnerved her. "You see what I do for a living... do you think I have time for clubs?"

"No," he conceded. But how much do I really know about you? he wondered.

He reached for her hand, which was suddenly cool to the touch. "Look, here's what worries me... I'm going to be honest with you because it's important. The two women your ex-husband brutalized... each bore a strong resemblance to you."

She just stared at him. "What do you mean?" she whispered.

"I mean that it's possible he chose his victims because they resembled you. Anger, obsession, twisted love - who knows what's going through his head. Even Theresa Lopez was a younger version of you - dark hair, prominent cheekbones, tall and slim. I'm worried how long he is going to be content with substitutes... I'm also worried that the violence has escalated. He's crossed the line from brutality to murder. And he's recruited someone to carry out his designs.

"Have you noticed anyone following you in the past several weeks? Anyone who gave you a feeling of uncertainty, wariness?"

"No, no one."

She stood up abruptly. "I need to step into the bedroom for a minute," she said, walking swiftly into the room and closing the door, leaving Horatio startled by her abrupt departure.

Once inside the room, Catherine's eyes went to the nightstand near the bed. A bottle of vodka sat there, a fair amount of it missing.

After dinner last night, Horatio had taken her back to the room. He had exchanged a few words with the police guard stationed outside and then unlocked her door. He asked her to stay in the hall as he swiftly went inside and looked around. Finally, he called out that everything was clear and she went in. It had shaken her that Horatio felt it necessary to check the room in spite of the presence of the guard. After he'd left, she'd called room service and ordered the vodka.

It had been a long time since she'd had to drink to remain calm. During the last weeks of her marriage to Joe, she was relying on vodka and other measures to maintain her equilibrium. Once she'd left California (and Joe), she was able to put the alcohol behind her. But the DVD had upset her – as had the look Horatio had given her during dinner. He seemed unsure of her, and she wondered if he believed her caught up in some dark fantasy. It had disconcerted her, the fact the little bit she had shared with him seemed to make him question her sanity.

Catherine reached for the tumbler on the nightstand and poured a few fingers of the vodka in. She didn't think he'd detect it on her breath – and God knows she needed a drink!

She carried the glass into the bathroom and began running the water in an attempt to buy some time before confronting Horatio again. She reached for the bottle of pills that sat on the counter. Flipping off the lid, she hesitated as she studied the small pink pill. She glanced at her reflection in the mirror, and was slightly reassured.

Before Horatio had arrived, she had a few drinks and one of the little pills. They had loosened her up, and she was able, at least temporarily, to cast aside thoughts and fears about Joe. Instead, fully relaxed, she thought about Horatio. She was attracted to him. She liked his looks, his long lean body, the bright hair and vivid eyes.

But it was his kindness that really drew her. It had been under the influence of the drug and drinks that she'd found the courage to dress up a little. It had been her intention to provoke a reaction from him; it was gratifying to her that she had.

But now, the flirtation had passed. Joe was in Miami!

No! It couldn't be!

Could it?

She swallowed the pill with the vodka, took a deep breath, and joined Horatio in the living room.

"You okay?" he asked.

She nodded. "Just shook up – hearing Joe is in Miami – it's upsetting. And those girls… do they really look like me?"

"I'm sorry, sweetheart," he said, his voice kind. "I'm afraid they do. Tell me about the last weeks of your marriage, Catherine."

She hesitated, and then sank back into the easy chair. "I've tried so hard to forget them, and now you want me to remember."

He said nothing, watching her.

Catherine closed her eyes briefly, allowing the pill and drink to work their magic.

"Okay," she said softly. "Joe was so taken with the Fosdicks. They made quite a fuss over him. They were always throwing parties at which we were the guests of honor. Emerson was particularly solicitous of Joe, introducing him to all his friends. And the friends started treating Joe like he was a god. In the early months, I laughed about it, telling him he better watch out that he didn't begin to believe he walked on water. In the beginning, he laughed as well. But as he grew more attached to them, I think he began to believe that he was as special as they did. But largely, it was Faith's doing. She had such influence over him…"

"How so?"

Catherine's laughter was sad. "She was so… seductive. She and Emerson were glamorous, the way the movie stars of a different era were. During those parties in our honor, Faith always managed to get Joe alone with her on some pretext or another. Soon, it was Joe trying to get her alone. She would sit on the edge of his chair during parties, coiling herself around him."

Horatio's gaze sharpened. "That's an odd word for you to use… coiling."

She nodded. "That's how it looked to me. She was very… sinuous in her movements. You had to see it to understand. It frightened me. She frightened me."

"Did she ever threaten you?"

"Not in so many words; her eyes… they were odd. Watchful." She paused, trying to put her thoughts into words. "When her eyes would settle on me, I felt as if something very old and primitive was staring at me. She never seemed to blink; those eyes would fix on me, never moving. It was creepy and scary."

"And Joe saw none of this?"

"He did – at first. When we first met Emerson and Faith, Joe seemed drawn to Emerson. Emerson was initially warm and colorful, a grand teller of stories. Joe thought Faith was as odd as I did. But things changed. Joe changed…"

"Was there a specific moment when you noticed the change?"

Catherine leaned her head back, suddenly feeling languid. She was beginning to feel sleepy. Perhaps too much vodka. She closed her eyes, trying to concentrate on Horatio's question. The drug and alcohol had taken the edge off her fear, and it was easier to talk about things, easier to look at them again. She'd forgotten how easily alcohol could separate one from her problems.

"Catherine?" Horatio's voice was sharp, interrupting her thoughts.

Opening her eyes, she looked at him. "What?"

"I asked if you can recall when Joe changed – was there a trigger?"

"It was the drugs. Emerson's parties were replete with them… there were cut crystal bowls on tables throughout the house filled with multicolored pills, all for the enjoyment of his guests. At first, Emerson didn't force the drugs on Joe or me. But that changed, and Emerson laughingly chided Joe for being a puritan. Joe grew increasingly captivated with Emerson, almost worshipful… after a while, he agreed with Emerson's view on the drugs. He told me it was just recreational use… like having a glass of wine. And once Joe was taking the drugs, he wanted me to join in."

"Did you?"

"I did… reluctantly… I loved Joe, and I felt him beginning to slip away from me. I would watch him take pills and go on these, well, flights of fancy, I guess, you'd call them. It was the three of them – Emerson, Joe and Faith. Emerson and Faith began to mock me – and Joe soon joined them. They were after me to take the drugs. Eventually I did. And that's when the real fun and games began..."

To be continued.