Author: Sam

Story: Speed Trap: 10 of 23

Series: Speed-Burn

Setting: January 19, 2005. Miami.

Notes: In privately sent reviews, I’ve had a comment pop up I thought I’d share with those interested: When Merrianna was reading the Fourth Chapter, in which Horatio gets left with a son he didn’t know about, she looked up at me and casually asked, “So how many people figured out that Horatio left Peg with the bill for four uneaten meals?” I thought for a second and started laughing then pointed out that one of those meals was for Alexx whom Peg hadn’t even invited to lunch.

Feedback: Yes, please? Especially constructive. samwise_baggins@yahoo.co.uk

Webpage: http://www.geocities.com/samwise_baggins/index.html

Eric Delko frowned softly as he carefully marked another comparison point on the printout of the fingerprint image. Moving back to the magnifying glass, he looked for other indicators to compare, concentrating hard enough to be oblivious to all around him. If he could prove the partial fingerprint from the garrote matched one on the suspect’s ident card, it would be a big step in nailing the child murderer. One or two more markers and…

Damn… Eric sat back, a frown on his face. Brown eyes stared intently at the equipment, as if the man was willing it to change what he’d seen. There was a loop to the distal ridge markings, and the suspect displayed no obvious loops on any of his ten digits. It was a definite difference. Delko would have to keep looking; it appeared he was looking for a different suspect, after all.

It was proving long, detailed work and he fervently hoped that they’d get the kinks in the upgrade to the AFIS site worked out soon; manual fingerprint comparisons were too slow, too exhausting, to do for any serious length of time. The fingerprint expert felt his respect rise a notch for those people who’d had to do this on a regular basis before AFIS and the World Wide Web.

With a sigh the Cuban-American bent to place his eye to the magnifier once more. The sound of someone entering the fingerprint lab had Delko glancing up, before becoming once more immersed in his delicate work. He gave a bright smile to Calleigh. “Need something?”

Calleigh’s frown made his smile slip in worry; he’d seen her practically bouncing just an hour previously.

“Stetler’s been in H’s office for over an hour now,” the worried woman informed him. She glanced towards the steps leading up to Horatio’s domain, the Plexiglas walls which constituted almost all of the crime lab’s walls allowing her a slightly blurry view of her supervisor and his nemesis. "They’ve been arguing about something."

Delko was surprised and followed her gaze. He, too, could see the pair in the raised office. H seemed to be towering over the only slightly smaller IAB man, and both seemed to be in a rather heated debate. That wasn’t like their normally calm, in-control boss. Eric frowned severely. “Think H is finally sick of that guy poking around here?” He wanted to say a whole lot more, especially concerning Rick Stetler’s possibly questionable parentage, but he refrained, watching in increasing anxiety as Stetler finally left the office, slamming the door.

If those walls had been regular glass, something would have shattered. As it was, movement across the lab stopped and people turned to stare in surprise towards the loud disruption. Stetler was hurrying down the steps, carrying a very thick folder; Horatio remained sequestered in his office, staring at his computer screen.

Brown eyes met blue as Eric turned his frown on Calleigh. Both looked back up towards H’s office. Finally, they seemed to make a decision, though no words had been spoken. The fingerprint expert left his fingerprint cards and printouts on the desk as he headed for the door, and his boss’s office, followed closely by the ballistics expert. They were joined within seconds by their newest investigator, Ryan Wolfe, who carried a sheaf of computer printouts tightly gripped in one hand.

Eyes quickly scanning the photocopied report on his desk, Horatio tried to concentrate wholly on what he was researching. He had to keep his mind clear, or he’d never be able to find the evidence to prove Stetler wrong. Speed had not been dirty, and Horatio planned to prove it. Tim Speedle, a dirty cop? He was the most honest cop, aside from Ryan Wolfe, Horatio knew… there was no way Stetler’s mass of information, confessions, and deals could be accurate. There had to be something out there to clear the name Rick Stetler was about to drag through the mud. Horatio refused to let one of his people go through such treatment, even posthumously.

The pounding in his ears, caused by anger, was beginning to subside and Horatio found himself becoming immersed in the information before him. There wasn’t anything in the report that the supervisor hadn’t already seen a dozen or more times over the years, but it didn’t stop him from searching. Somehow, Rick Stetler had found something on Speed, or found a way to back up a trump charge, and any little sliver of information could contradict the smug IAB man’s proof. One little discrepancy could blow Stetler’s case to dust…. All he had to do was find it.

When Horatio had declared that he, as supervisor of the crime lab, demanded the chance to find evidence to contradict the charges, and subsequently demanded a copy of the entire file, Stetler had been livid. He’d slammed a photocopy on the desk; apparently the man had been prepared for such a contingency despite not liking it. He then stormed from the office, slamming the door with enough force to attract unwanted attention. It was only a matter of time.

A knock interrupted the man and he frowned, glancing towards his door. There stood his three day-shift investigators, all looking worried or anxious or upset. Well, it looked like it was time already.

Horatio straightened, leaving the file open. His quick mind saw the advantage of having the entire staff on this case, thus he decided to include them. With a signal of one hand, Horatio waited for the team to file in and spread out once more. Before they could question him, he spoke, his voice soft, steady, once more under control.

“IAB has found evidence that the Miami-Dade Crime Lab may have been housing a dirty cop.” Why mince words; the sooner they understood, they sooner they could try to clear their deceased friend and coworker. He reached down and pushed the file towards the three, noticing with approval that they didn’t start wasting time arguing but moved directly to find out more information.

“No! This is wrong, H!” Delko’s voice was instantly angry as he saw the name on the file: Speedle, T.J. “Speed wasn’t dirty! You know… knew him better than to believe this trash.”

“I…”

The redhead was cut off by Calleigh’s quiet, yet intensely indignant reply, “Where did he find this, H? He had to have based it on something.”

“Calleigh!” The Hispanic man whirled on the blonde woman, anger flaring higher. “You can’t possibly believe this shit?”

She looked calmly at Delko and shook her head, ponytail swaying with the movement. “Of course not, Eric, but Rick Stetler’s a smart man. He’d have to have something to build his case on; an invented charge won’t hold up even for Internal Affairs.”

Ryan didn’t say a word, knowing Speed only by reputation. Instead, the young former patrolman was looking through the file, reading quickly and flipping pages. His eyebrows shot up and he glanced at Horatio, ignoring the argument between the irate Eric, supporting his best friend all the way, and the calm Calleigh, playing Devil’s Advocate. “H?” His query broke through the argument and the others looked over.

Horatio waited, knowing the obsessive officer may have found something with his detached investigation that closer hearts and eyes might miss.

“Speedle was shot in the chest, right?”

“That’s right.”

Glancing down at the too-thick sheaf of evidence papers, Ryan flipped through to the biographical statistics. “Alexx Woods would have done the autopsy?”

“Correct.” Still Horatio calmly waited for Ryan to make his point.

“Then, she’d be able to confirm or deny these marks, right?” Ryan pointed to the information on scars and tattoos Speed was listed as having.

Delko jumped in. “For law enforcement, Speed had very few scars. I know; we’ve gone swimming together.”

With a curious tilt to his head, Horatio looked at his longtime investigator and friend. “Go on, Eric; what marks did you notice… and when was the last time you saw him in his trunks?”

Stepping over to the desk, Eric looked down at the file and frowned severely. “First off, Speed’s never had a surgery in his life, so this appendectomy scar is wrong. Tattoo? I think any one of us can confirm that he didn’t have any tattoos on his back. He didn’t have any, at all, unless his trunks covered them.” The man looked at his boss intently. “Either Stetler’s got the wrong information or he’s got his head up his ass… I’m willing to bet on both.”

“That doesn’t sound right, Eric. He should know those details would be too easy to verify. After all, Alexx would have undressed him completely for the autopsy.” Calleigh was frowning, puzzled at the game Stetler was apparently playing.

A smile crossed Horatio’s face and he reached for his cell phone. “Well, let’s verify with Alexx, shall we?” and he dialed the medical examiner who had been Speed’s closest friend, and the last person to see him undressed.

Slowly bringing her scalpel across the chest of the victim, making the standard Y incision many coroners used, Alexx Woods was surprised to hear the sound of her cell phone pierce the stillness of the morgue. With a frown, she put the knife down and pulled off her glove then checked the name of her caller. Horatio? Well, it certainly must be important if Horatio Caine was calling her. The woman turned back to her patient and leaned over, patting him with her still-gloved left hand. “I’ll be right back, baby. You rest there.”

She walked out of the room, into the small office provided for her current paperwork, drawing off the other glove as she moved. Once inside, she flicked the phone on and said, “Alexx. What do you need, Horatio?”

Surprise registered in her deep brown eyes as her friend said, “I need you to pull Tim Speedle’s autopsy file, Alexx. We’ve noticed some discrepancies that you may be able to clear up.”

“What’s this about, Horatio?” She reached into her filing cabinet and started flipping through folders, her fingers soon resting on the correct one. She found she had to brace herself to remove it. Even after four and a half months to get used to the idea, Alexx still had a tough time accepting that Tim was dead.

“Let me worry about that for now, okay?” Horatio’s voice was cautious, his manner alerting her that this probably had something to do with Rick Stetler and Internal Affairs. If Horatio told her why he was rechecking the autopsy details, she might be accused of being biased.

With a sigh, Alexx flipped open the file, touching the clear bag of autopsy pictures with a trembling finger. “Okay, Horatio.” She took a breath, controlling the waver in her voice. “What do you need to know?”

“Did Speedle have any identifying marks, Alexx? Any scars or tattoos?”

Surprise registered on Alexx’s face and she pulled the pictures from their protective bag. “Actually, yes; he had an appendectomy scar, and no appendix.” Flipping through the report, ignoring the pictures for now, Alexx came across the rest of what Horatio wanted to know. “And he had a tattoo on his right shoulder blade.”

The silence from Horatio’s end was so long, Alexx wondered if the call had been dropped. Finally, the man spoke. “I’ll need a copy of the autopsy report, Alexx, as well as any descriptions or photographs you have. I’ll be down to sign for them shortly.”

With a frown, Alexx agreed then hung up.

Now that was a surprise. Obviously something bothered Horatio about Tim’s markers. She thought back on that day over four months again, and once more puzzled over the inconsistencies in her knowledge and what she’d found. What was IAB up to now? And why pick on Timmy?