"Talk to me, Francis." There was more than a hint of urgency in Horatio's voice as he spoke.
"Patrol have just called in a DB. Looks like it's one of the low-lives that Fernandez had been seen hanging around with when we put a tail on him."
"Are you sure?"
Frank turned to look at Eric as he answered. "As sure as my old grandma wore cotton panties, Delko."
"This is getting out of control, you know that right?" Ryan looked expectantly at Horatio, waiting for the man's impending instructions.
"Ok, gentlemen," the Lieutenant began as he pulled his sunglasses out of his shirt and began fiddling with them. The physical motion of turning the object over in his hands allowed him a small sense of calm in the fraught atmosphere. He needed to feel the metal and glass in his hands, using the familiarity of that touch to focus his mind. The situation with Cesar Donato was escalating, and fast. "Eric, I want you to take Mr Wolfe and process the scene. Frank and I will join you there shortly."
"Will do, boss," Eric replied as he gave Horatio a nod of the head, still eager to win brownie points with his superior after his recent chastisement. The voice of his brother in law made him stop briefly.
"Be careful, gentlemen. This is turning out to be an explosive situation, keep your wits about you."
He watched their retreating forms as his two colleagues made their way to the parking lot. Cesar had obviously been as good as his word and had already decided to take affirmative action. It wasn't as if Fernandez's body was even that cold yet, Cesar hadn't given them enough time to even start a formal investigation before taking justice into his own hands.
Of course, there was no cast-iron proof that the recently-released gang member had anything to do with the new corpse that they had been saddled with, the timing however, spoke volumes. Horatio Caine had been a police officer long enough to know that there was rarely any such thing as coincidence, especially in his line of work. Cesar had warned him that he would seek justice for his step-brother, he just wasn't expecting him to go about it so expediently.
Another piece of scum off the streets though. He immediately admonished himself for such a thought. A murder victim was a victim just like any other, it was not for to him to play judge, jury and executioner. Jesus and his partner may have been criminals, but they had also been murdered, they were owed justice just as much as the next man.
But did he really believe that anymore? The years and the needless deaths that he had witnessed had worn him down and chipped away at his empathy for the victims. Not all victims, he told himself, just the ones who don't deserve it. But who on earth was he to decide who was worth fighting for and who wasn't?
Jesus and his partner had murdered two people in cold blood. Do they really deserve the same treatment as the innocent couple that they killed? It shocked him to find that he was having a hard time caring about the two dead gang members, and that he was more concerned about nipping the situation with Cesar in the bud before it spun too wildly out of control.
He shook the thoughts from his head as he fished in his pocket for his keys. "Take a ride with me, Frank?"
His colleague gave him a stiff smile in response. "Sure, why not?"
The silence yawned between the two men, and it suddenly reminded Frank of the days when he and Horatio had first been partnered to work together. Straight away, he'd taken a dislike to the odd and dishevelled detective that had transferred from New York under suspicious circumstances. He'd always prided himself on being a good judge of character, but there was just something about the evasive redhead that didn't add up.
His mind cast back to the first day that they had laid eyes on each other, a skinny, bearded hobo sat in the Department reception area, staring vacantly out of the large glass-panelled windows of the building. He'd taken him for some kind of vagrant at first, the shock at discovering that the man was to be his new partner was palpable as he looked the scruffy and worn-looking figure disdainfully.
Straight away he'd had his suspicions about his new partner, something that was confirmed when the very same man returned to the squad room the next day, shaved and coiffed to within an inch of his life and dressed in the finest Italian tailoring. He said nothing at first, but his reticence to speak did not last long as he asked his new partner just what the hell was going on.
The man's answers had done nothing to sway him from the idea that he was either working for the dreaded rat squad or was on the take, he just hadn't decided which yet. His partner's distracted nature in those first few weeks had also aroused his suspicions as to just what the other man was up to. His distrust soon turned to contempt as their relationship soured to the point that the two men were barely speaking, their relationship had devolved into games of petty one-upmanship as they worked on cases together, yet separately.
If he'd only known then what he did now, he would never have treated Horatio in such a cold and dismissive way. The poor man had been cast adrift from everything he had ever known and dumped in a new city with a hostile new partner. He'd never made it easy for Horatio in those first few weeks, and it wasn't until his partner had saved him from a bullet that he realised that perhaps the man was trustworthy after all.
There had been no grand gestures of sorrow or forgiveness on either man's part, both of them knowing that the other was not the type of man who would sit down and readily talk about their feelings. The pair of them had come to the understanding that they would put past grievances behind them and start again.
Horatio had opened up to him a little more after that, he found the New Yorker a good man, and a fine detective, as their professional relationship began to blossom into a genuine friendship built on respect and acceptance of each other and their ways. Still, Horatio had never been the type of man who would talk too much about his private life, and to be honest, he preferred it that way. No, the two men were much more comfortable talking about work or college basketball scores than they were about their feelings.
Many years ago, and after a particularly tough case, it had been Horatio who had tracked him down to the bar where he had planned to drown his sorrows. The man said nothing as he perched on the stool next to him and ordered a coffee. He had expected some kind of reproachful comment, or a lecture from the good Lieutenant, but found none forthcoming, the man just sat on his stool sipping his coffee, making sure that his colleague knew that he had a friend beside him and someone to lean on should he need it.
Those kind of wordless actions defined the relationship between the two men, they hated talking about their feelings, yet both of them knew the depths of the emotions that they held for one another. They were each other's silent pillar of support in a world that had become so obsessed with communication and the need to analyse one's feelings. There would be no poking or prodding, just a wordless offer of assistance in a time of need, no pushing to open up and talk about things. Just acceptance.
Yet for all of his internal musings, Frank couldn't shake the feeling that his colleague was carrying a considerable load on his shoulders at this time. He kept an eye on the quiet man as they drove to the crime scene, casting furtive glances as he watched Horatio take a left turn then pull up sharply at the taped-off area that was currently surrounded by uniformed officers.
"Horatio?" he asked as he saw his colleague take off his seatbelt and reach for the door handle, shooting him a quizzical look as he paused. "You ok, man?"
He felt awkward for even asking, his cheeks flamed as he realised that he had broken their unspoken rule. Now he was no better than the rest of them, shooting pitying glances at the poor man as he struggled to reassert himself, and his authority, in the Lab.
He had sworn that when Horatio returned, that he would treat him in the same way as he had before the shit had hit the fan in such a major way. He would bite down on his genuine concern for his colleague's safety, there were already enough people trying to coddle him as it was, and as much as he loved his daughters, Frank Tripp was no coddler. Especially when it came to men.
He winced as Horatio's eyes darkened for a moment, the sunglasses momentarily dropping further down the man's nose as he looked across the Hummer to his passenger. "Never better," was the stiff response as the glasses were pushed back up to cover those piercing blue eyes, but not before a brief look of frustration marred the Lieutenant's face.
Realising that he'd put his foot in it, Frank trudged behind in the wake of Horatio's footsteps as he watched his colleague march purposefully across to where the dead body lay, bending slightly as he made his way under the crime scene tape.
"What have we got, gentlemen?"
The first face to greet him was that of the perky M.E, Tom Loman. "Ah, Horatio. Twice in one day, aren't we lucky?"
Horatio frowned in response, "Not so lucky for that poor man," he stated as he pointed at the bloodied and beaten figure beneath Tom's hands. "Any ID on the body?" he asked as he fiddled with the arms of his sunglasses, needing them in his hands to focus at the job at hand and not his wayward thoughts.
Ryan held up a clear plastic bag, inside was a blood-smeared open wallet, the driver's license clearly visible. "Hector Lorenzo, 24. Lives a couple of blocks away from Jesus Fernandez."
"His description matches the surveillance images?"
"Yup," Ryan answered as he placed the clear plastic bag in his kit and stood to his full, if inconsequential height. "DNA tests should confirm whether he's the second suspect we're looking for in the Simpson case. It's looking likely though."
"Don't assume, Mr Wolfe," Horatio chided, his tone soft, his intentions clear. "The Lab has been under far too much scrutiny lately. I want you to make absolutely sure that we have Mr and Mrs Simpson's killers. This case needs to be watertight, understood?"
Ryan had almost been tempted to make an affronted remark about that, he managed to stop himself before his mouth once more got him into trouble. He was well aware at just how much pressure the Lieutenant had been under since his return to the Lab, all eyes were constantly on him, watching and waiting for him to make some kind of mistake, trying to find a reason why the seasoned police officer was no longer fit to run the Lab that he had worked so tirelessly to build.
Horatio was under pressure, they all were. IAB had been sniffing around since his return last week, asking difficult questions and casting doubt as to the professional repute of the facility. This also happened to be the first case that Horatio had taken charge of since he'd been back after spending a large portion of last week hiding away somewhere inside the Lab. Everyone was watching, of that he had no doubt. Horatio must have been under a huge amount of pressure, he thought, as he watched his superior tap on his badge absent-mindedly, his thoughts obviously somewhere else.
That smoky voice brought them all to attention as Horatio spoke in a commanding tone. "Dr Loman, I want you to take the body back to the morgue and complete an autopsy ASAP, please." The doctor nodded as he pulled the sharp metal thermometer out of the abdomen of the corpse, making a note of the liver temperature before placing the instrument back in his case.
Next, Horatio turned his attention to Ryan and Eric, the latter had kept suspiciously quiet since his arrival a few short minutes ago. "Gentlemen, I want you to process this scene thoroughly. Collect every piece of trace you can find, no matter how small. Don't assume that Cesar Donato is our man, let the evidence guide you."
Finally, he turned to Frank, motioning for the detective to follow him as he moved a few paces away from his colleagues. "Frank, I have to be somewhere shortly. I want you to knock on doors, see what you can find out."
The Texan gave him a sour look, "Take a look at this neighbourhood, Horatio. You think anyone's gonna be brave enough to talk?" He shook his head as he watched the heavily-tattooed young men lounging around on their front porches, watching the scene unfold carefully.
Horatio smiled subtly. "I've heard that you can be very persuasive, Francis. Why don't you rattle a few cages and see what falls out?"
"And what are you going to do?"
Frank didn't miss the small frown that crossed Horatio's face, it faded not long after it appeared. "I have some personal business to attend to," was the succinct reply, signalling that he would not discuss it further. "Put a BOLO out on Cesar. I want him, Frank."
He watched Horatio stride purposefully back towards the Hummer, pull himself up on the running board and into the vehicle, his eyes didn't miss the tired rise and fall of the Lieutenant's shoulders as he shook his head slightly before starting the engine and pulling away.
Perhaps he should have pressed Horatio harder about what was bothering him, it would be unlikely that the man would answer him truthfully, but it would ease his own conscience to know that he had at least attempted to find out what was eating at him before it consumed him alive. He shook the thought from his mind, had Horatio learned nothing from his horrific experience? Keeping the truth from people was how he'd managed to get in this mess in the first place.
Damn that man though, Horatio was the textbook definition of enigmatic. There was just something about the man that screamed mystery and illusion. On the surface, Horatio appeared to be a titular hero, standing tall as chaos threatened to consume the city. He was the man that everyone else would look to as things fell apart around them, exuding a quiet confidence and air of authority as he took the given situation in hand and calmed the fraught nerves of others. Horatio was a man who always appeared in control, an island of tranquillity in a sea of chaos.
People saw him as stoic, steadfast, reliable. A man seemingly impervious to physical or emotional harm. No matter what was thrown at him, he would pick himself up, dust himself down and carry on regardless, paying little attention to the toll it took on him personally. His steely gaze cast fear into the hearts of even the most hardened of criminals as he proved, time and again, that justice would prevail.
Yet there was so much more to the man than met the eye, behind the well-dressed image was a man, just as fallible as the rest of humanity, with a heart that bled and broke just like any other. The trouble was that Horatio had spent so long cultivating the image that he had forgotten the man beneath. His first consideration had always been for the welfare and wellbeing of others, his needs were secondary, if they were even considered at all.
Horatio was a man of many layers, only a precious few ever got to peel away the first few. He was the ultimate illusionist, only allowing others what he wanted them to see, never giving too much away to anyone. There was no doubting that Horatio was a fine friend to him, the trouble was that Horatio refused to let him see much further than beneath the surface, preferring to remain elusive, that same mysterious, enigmatic man.
The only time he had ever really seen a deeper, more unguarded Horatio had been at the hospital in the days and weeks after he had been rescued at sea. It was only when the physical strength of the man had been stripped away that he could see just how much of a front the stoic Lieutenant had put on for the sake of his colleagues. His injuries, and the vast amounts of medication he was being administered, had all but sapped him of any kind of strength. His defences were down, the very human and very vulnerable Horatio was clearly on show.
He felt bad for admitting to himself that the sight of Horatio so out of control emotionally had shook him so badly. He'd taken for granted all the times that Horatio had been the voice of reason and the calming influence on the team. As he lay helpless in hospital, it was becoming apparent that the wheels were quickly coming off as the team veered from one chaotic situation to the next. Had he really underestimated just how much they all needed a fit and focused Horatio?
He had hated himself for thinking it, and was loathe to say it out loud, Horatio might have been physically fit enough to return to work, but there was something that niggled at him about the Lieutenant's emotional state. The first few days of his return had been fraught and uncomfortable, as the team attempted to adjust to having Horatio back in their ranks, their concern for his wellbeing and safety had been palpable from the start. It was clear to see that the man himself was struggling to reintegrate back into the team dynamic too, as his colleagues veered from one extreme to the other in their efforts to make him feel welcome again.
The behaviour and actions of his friend and colleague had been erratic at best these last few days, it was clear that something was still not right with the man. At times he was the Horatio of old, taking charge and leading from the front. At others, he was evasive and quiet, distracted even, as his gaze and mind wandered from one thought to the next. Horatio's slightly schizophrenic nature was at odds with the image of the man that Frank had come to know and rely on so heavily. Any fool could see that Horatio was trying to convince himself, and everyone else, that he was the man they once knew, yet the more he considered the idea, the less sure he became that the statement was true.
The man's head seemed in the game today though, he'd dealt with Cesar Donato like the Horatio of old, staring down the heavily-tattooed thug and not blinking an eye. It also gave him heart that Horatio had taken command of the cases of both Jesus Fernandez and his suspected partner in crime, Hector Lorenzo. But where was the man going now, and why wouldn't he tell anyone? What were they supposed to do if there was a break in the case, would the man even answer his Goddamn cell phone if he rang him?
He shook his head. Moments later, he caught Eric look at him with a sly grin on his face. "What you looking at, Delko?" he barked as he stood with his hands on his hips, trying, and failing, to give a pale imitation of the man who'd just upped and left the scene. "Haven't you got some fluff to pick up with your tweezers or something?"