"32 and Dead" by Enhinti

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Enhinti

Enhinti

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Hi everyone!

I wrote a fan fic like an episode to go in between "Dissolved" and "Seeing Red"
Tell me if it sounds good.

"When notorious night club owner Joe Mazzaro is found dead in his apartment, Horatio once again comes head to head with an old nemesis."

Starring:

Horatio Caine
Calleigh Duquesne
Eric Delko
Ryan Wolfe
Frank Tripp
Natalia Boa Vista
Kyle Caine

Maxine Velara
Dr. T Trenton
Detective Bernstein
Judge Ojeda

Scott O’Shay
Celine Wilcox
Hal Wilcox
Joe Mazzaro
Sarah Mitchell
Cynthia Sanchez
Carl the Bouncer
 
Scene 1
Joe Mazzaro was lying down on a couch talking loudly into his cell phone.
“Ah, good, good,” he said, and hung up. “Hey, baby! Scram. I’m expecting someone!” A brown haired girl peeked out from under the covers of the bed in the other room.
 
Scene 2
A woman walked down the wide hall passed apartment doors. She stopped before the number 736 and sighed. On her knock, the door crept open.
“Joe?” said the woman. “Joe are you in here? It’s me.”
Suddenly, she stopped and screamed.
 
Scene 3
H leaned over a dead body.
“You remember Joe Mazzaro,” said Frank, standing not two feet away with his trusty new electronic note pad.
“I do, Frank,” H replied. His voice was low and thoughtful as he recalled his passed encounters with the victim. “He makes money off exploiting young women.”
“Oh the guy had real charm, I’ll say,” said Frank.
“Charm and plenty of booze,” said H.
Frank surveyed the living room once more. Messy papers and photographs from the victim’s desk where scattered around the floor. Wine glasses and an empty bottle were left alone on the coffee table.
“Regular dirt bag promises money, clothes, the works,” he said. “Those girls end up junkies, sleeping with Miami’s rich and scummy.”
H nodded his head. “Question is,” H replied, “who shot the friendly neighborhood pimp?”

Roll Credits!
 
Scene 4
Calleigh and Frank walk out of the apartment towards a brunette woman who is standing off to the side.
“Cynthia Sanchez?” said Calleigh.
“Yes,” said the woman. “I’m sorry. I’m just in shock.” She rubbed her arms and hugged her self as if she was cold.
“That’s perfectly understandable, ma’am,” said Calleigh. “I’m CSI Duquesne and this is Sergeant Tripp.”
“You want to know what happened?” said Cynthia.
“Everything you know,” said Calleigh.
“What was your relationship with the victim?” Frank asked.
“I…” she stopped thinking as if for a moment confused. “He’s my employer He owns and manages the Red Flamingo Club, where I work.”
“As a dancer,” said Frank.
“As a bartender,” Cynthia replied.
“What are you doing at his apartment?”
“He asked me to come over,” Cynthia replied.
“Your employer asked you to come over to his apartment hours after closing?” Calleigh asked.
“To do what?” Frank asked, sarcastically.
“I…, look,” said Cynthia, “I go over inventory after closing but Joe, he takes off. We’ve been having bottles go missing. Nothing big, but you know, a little here and there. Joe starts to think there’s a thief among us. When the scotch count was down two, I called him on his cell. He asked me to come over and help him figure out who the culprit was. But when I got here, the door was unlocked and he was lying there, with all that blood.”
Cynthia pressed her hand to her eyes.
“Do you remember what time you called him?” Calleigh asked.
“No. But it would be on my phone,” said Cynthia. She took her cell phone out of her purse and put it in Calleigh’s gloved hand.
“Thanks,” said Calleigh, “I’ll see that you get this back. Do you know if he had any money or valuables in the apartment?”
“No,” said Cynthia. “I wouldn’t know. But it doesn’t sound like Joe to leave things around.”
“You do know how he made his money, right?” Frank asked.
“The Red Flamingo is a popular club,” Cynthia replied, not sure what to say. “A lot of very famous and influential people go there.”
“Because they get a little more for a little extra?” Frank asked.
“Look,” said Cynthia, “I’m just the bartender. OK?”
“OK, Ms Sanchez,” said Calleigh, “can you tell us about his enemies? Who would want to hurt him?”
“You’ll have to talk to Carl about that,” said Cynthia. “He’s the bouncer.”
“Do you know how we can reach Carl?” Frank asked.
“His number’s on my phone.”
“Thanks, Ms Sanchez,” said Calleigh. “You can go now. We’ll keep in touch.”
When Cynthia strode off down the hall towards the elevator, Frank whispered to Calleigh. “Too easy, giving us her phone.”
“Maybe,” Calleigh replied.
 
Scene 5
H examined a small groove in the wall, and carefully dug into it with his blue tweezers.
“Hmmmmm,” he said.
“Bullet hole and projectory?” Calleigh ask.
She slipped Cynthia’s cell phone in an evidence bag as she came over to the far wall where H stood.
“And bullet,” said H, holding up the small piece of deformed metal.
“32,” said Calleigh, she took it from him and dropped it into the evidence container for the bullet.
“The shot came from the closet,” said H, “through the victim, and out into the wall. Nice way to say ‘Good Morning.’”
“I’ll get this to the lab,” said Calleigh.
She stepped over the spewed papers and out the door. Only a quick eyebrow raise in Eric’s direction revealed what her own “Good morning” had been.
“Dr. Trenton,” said H to the Medical Examiner, “anything of note?”
The burly middle aged man gently turned the body on it’s side.
“Just as you said,” he replied. “Bullet when in through the back and out the base of the neck. Up ward angle.”
“But right into the wall…” said H thinking.
“Not from this position,” Dr. Trenton replied.
“He must have been getting up,” said H. “Up off the couch, when the closet door opened. Anything else?”
“Only that he got lucky before he got shot.”
H raised his eyebrows and cocked his head to one side. “Hmmmmm,” said he. “Maybe we have a witness. One of the dancers at his club?”
“This should tell us,” said Eric, through the open bedroom door. “There’s biologicals everywhere in here! I’m taking all of the bedding.”
H nodded his head and looked at the lifeless figure of Joes Mazzaro. His thought traveled to Anna who was still struggling to make a life for herself away from Joe and prostitution. Deep within his heart he prayed that the DNA would not come back her.
 
Scene 6
Calleigh adjusted the microscope to get a better look at the slender lines which streamed across the bullet.
“I dropped off the bios with Valera,” said Eric. He stood in the door way to the ballistics lab and admired her with a side ways smile. “Any luck with the bullet?”
“It’s not luck,” Calleigh replied, her sweet southern drawl lingering on each word. “It’s an art.”
Eric had to chuckle.
“I got a good sample,” said Calleigh at last, “but it’s not in the database, so I’ll need something to compare it to.”
“Right,” said Eric. “Well, we’re waiting on news of the body. Trenton is out on another case.”
“Hmmm,” said Calleigh, “murder sees to be in the air.”
She put the bullet back into the evidence container and sealed it.
“Carl the bouncer won’t answer his phone,” said Eric, “but I was able to pull up his record and address.”
“Great,” she replied. “Let’s go.”
 
Scene 7
Dr. Trenton leaned over the body of an elderly white man.
“Another bullet,” he said. “What is with people today and guns?”
“Fast and efficient,” Natalia replied. She flipped her hair to the other shoulder and switched on her little black flash light. The white hew danced over the surface of the coffee table.
“Loud,” said Trenton.
“Ha, yeah,” said Natalia. Her gloved right hand touched the top of her gun holster. It was not much over a year since she had passed her qualifying exams to carry a firearm.
Ryan strode into the room and glanced around.
“Ryan Wolfe, Todd Trenton,” said Natalia.
“Hi,” said Trenton. “Friends call me TT”
“Hey,” said Ryan, “TT.” He hesitated shifting from one foot to the other.
“Or just T” said Trenton.
“Right,” said Ryan, “so you’re the new ME.”
“That’s what they tell me,” Trenton replied. He zipped up the body bag and directed the assistants to take it away. “The bullet’s still inside so you’ll have to wait ‘til autopsy to get it. I have Joe Mazzaro to look at first. I’ll text you when I get to Mr. Wilcox here.”
“Right,” said Ryan. He crossed his arms and watched Trenton leave the room. “So this is the penthouse apartment of the wealthy Hal Wilcox.”
“Yeah,” said Natalia. “This is the study. Living room, dining room, a home theater, and through those doors is a room with nothing more then paintings and a pool table.”
“Nice,” said Ryan. “I think I’ll sell my three room condo and move to the top of a sky scraper.” He glanced at the wheel chair. “Wilcox a handicapped?”
“He’s been in a wheel chair for ten years,” said Natalia.
“Nice,” said Ryan, sarcastically. “Shoot the guy that can’t fight back. What do you have there?”
“Two tea drinkers,” said Natalia. “Takes lemon and the other takes sugar and wear’s lipstick on it. And then a coffee cup over there. It looks like a palm print, someone bending over to check the body.”
“Looks like there are finger prints on the tea cups,” said Ryan. “So who ever was drinking was not the shooter.”
“Or the shooter knew the victim intimately,” said Natalia.
“Maybe inside?” said Ryan. “Maybe the gun’s still here?”
They both got down on their hands and knees and started looking.
 
Scene 8
H stood in the large foyer and glanced at the blond young woman a distance away in the living room.
“Detective Bernstein,” said H, in a low voice.
“Hal Wilcox,” said Bernstein, “64, billionaire, crabby.”
“Aren’t we all?” said H. “Who found the body?”
“Mrs there,” said the homicide detective. “Less then half his age, I’ll bet. She told the maid to call 911. She also asked for you.”
“Did she?” said H.
“Yeah,” said Bernstein. “I’m going to chat with the maid now.”
“Thank you.” H replied. Bernstein went off and H strode into the living room to where the young woman sat. “Celine Wilcox?”
“Lt. Caine,” she replied. She inhaled sharply and pretended that she had not been crying. Even now appearance was the key. “So good of you to come.”
“Celine,” said H. “You found your husband?”
“Yes,” she said with a jerky nod of the head. “I came back in to put the tea things in the kitchen. I thought he was asleep. He never lies down on the floor.”
“Ok,” said H. “Do you know if he had any enemies?”
“Oh, Hal?” Celine said. “Hal is a hard man to get along with. I’m sure a lot of people wish him dead. But to actually do it? To kill him? No.”
“I see,” H replied. “Celine, has there been any trouble in your marriage since your step daughter was killed.”
“I was wondering when you would get to that question,” she said. “That’s why I asked for you. Better come from you then some one I don’t know. The answer is yes. There was trouble in our marriage.”
H nodded his head. “What was it?” he asked.
“I got pregnant, three months ago,” Celine replied. “Hal didn’t want another child. We argued over that.”
“Are you seeing anyone out side-”
“No,” she said. “I wasn’t cheating, I have never cheated, and Hal never said anything to me that would indicate that he thought that I was cheating.”
“I see,” said H.
 
Scene 9
H met Detective Bernstein out in the hall.
“The maid confirmed that the Mrs. Wilcox argued with her husband early this morning,” said Bernstein. “Also in his will Hal Wilcox only left her 6 million. It’s according to the arrangement they made on their marriage.”
“Yes,” said H, “the pre nup.”
“Right, and if they got a divorce, she’d get nothing.”
“But a baby would change that,” said H.
“A baby?” the detective asked. “Of course. Amy Wilcox was to get half the empire on daddy’s death. To bad she went first. With a good lawyer, though that money might end up going to another kid.”
“Ok,” said H. “Let’s sit with this a bit. Can you get a tail of Celine Wilcox?”
“As we speak,” said Bernstein.
 
Scene 10
Calleigh stepped up to a shabby apartment and rapped on the pealing paint on the door. Eric stood by and listened to the silence within.
“Carl Thompson?” he yelled. “Miami Dade PD! We need to ask you questions!”
Calleigh put her hand to gun holster and waited.
“Movement,” she said.
“Carl?” Eric yelled. “Open up!”
“W- What?” said a sleepy voice on the other side of the door.
“MD PD, Carl,” said Eric. “We need to talk to you.”
First came the sound of the chain moving and then the lock. The door soon opened to reveal a squinty eyed young man. His wrinkled white t-shirt and pajama pants added to his sleepy appearance.
“Dude,” he said. “I work nights. Can’t you come back at like four or something? I just got to bed.”
“We’re sorry to disturb you,” said Calleigh, “but we have to ask you some questions. Your employer Joe Mazzaro was killed early this morning.”
“Ouch,” said Carl, all wide eyed. “Is this for real?”
“Un fortunately, yes,” said Calleigh. “May we come in?”
“Sure, yeah,” said Carl. “Just don’t touch the paintings. Their still kind of wet.”
Calleigh and Eric went in passed the rows of leaning paintings and paintings up on easels and followed Carl into the kitchen.
“Joe dead,” said Carl. “Wow.”
“You don’t seem too surprised,” said Eric.
“Honestly,” said Carl, “the guy was a jerk, and on that, he was into some shady stuff. I think half of the dancers were hookers and Joe got a take. Plus word is a little black mail on the side. You know senator, judges, rich business men, what not.”
“He had a female visitor in his apartment about the time of his murder,” said Calleigh. “Any idea of who it could be.”
Carl shook his head and thought. “Anyone,” he said with a shrug.
“Narrow that down a bit,” said Eric with a grin.
“Anyone but Cynthia?”
“Cynthia Sanchez?” Calleigh asked surprised. “The bartender.
“She and Joe had it out two nights ago and she got canned,” said Carl. “Don’t know what about but they were heated.”
“Then she was fired,” said Calleigh.
“Yeah,” said Carl.
“And she didn’t work last night,” said Eric.
“No, Kitty was doing double last night, trying to cover for a two people. Why?”
“Thanks,” said Calleigh. “We’ll keep in touch.”
“My pleasure.”
On their way back to the hummer, Calleigh whispered to Eric, “Very convenient of Cynthia to leave that out of her story.”
“Yeah,” said Eric. “Let’s see what else she left out.”
 
Scene 11
Ryan sauntered into the DNA lab and took a stool on the other side of the large glass table.
“Any news?” he asked Maxine.
“I’m running it now,” she replied, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “Be patient.”
Ryan fingered the papers that were stacked beside the analyzer. “This from the other case?” he asked.
“Yes,” said Maxine, bobbing her cropped blond head. “But Eric and Calleigh aren’t picking up.”
“Sarah Mitchell,” said Ryan reading the name on the test result. “Picked up for possession and under aged drinking. I’ll get a call out for a uniform to pick her up.”
“Thanks,” said Maxine.
The computer beeped as the words “Match Found” flashed on the screen.
“Oh,” she said. “You got lucky!”
“I’m always lucky,” said Ryan.
“The saliva on the coffee cup came back as Scot O’Shay.”
“H’s best friend,” said Ryan. “He’s going to love this.”
 
Scene 12
H stepped into the restaurant and glanced around. The diners were all going to a hearty lunch, ignorant of his presence or reasons to come.
“Can it help you sir?” said the pleasant hostess at the little podium.
“Miami Dade PD, ma’am,” said H. “I need to see Scott O’Shay.”
“Down that way,” said the hostess. “Last table to the left.”
The supervisor wasn’t hard to find as her direction were precise. Scott O’Shay was sitting right by the back exit, deep in conversation with another gentleman.
“Supervisor?” said H.
“Well,” said O’Shay. “If it isn’t Officer High and Mighty! I would offer you some lunch but I doubt you can eat with us mere mortal public servants. Caught any bad guys today?”
H smiled broadly as he took a lingering chair and pulled it up to the table. “Judge Ojeda,” said H, recognizing the other man at the table.
“Lt. Caine,” said the judge more hospitable then the supervisor. “To what do we own the honor?”
“I regret to inform you gentlemen that Hal Wilcox is dead,” said H.
“We’re sorry to hear that,” said O’Shay, and he took another bite of NY tender loin.
H smiled. “Your honor,” he said to the judge, “I need to ask the supervisor some questions.”
“Of course,” Ojeda said. “I’ll be at the bakery. Take all the time you need, lieutenant.”
O’Shay drummed his fingers on the table and shifted in his chair. “That’s sad,” he said, unconvincingly, “very sad.”
“How did you get that bite on your hand, supervisor?” H asked.
“This?” said O’Shay, looking at the nick in his right hand. “It’s nothing. I really don’t remember.”
“Just before Mr. Wilcox died,” said H, “you visited him.”
“I did,” said O’Shay. “He is a very influential man. Connections you know. I needed to touch base on a few things.”
“What kind of things?” H asked.
“Matters that do not concern murder,” said the supervisor. “Look if I’m a suspect, arrest me. Go ahead. I didn’t kill Wilcox. Now is harassing me really a sure way of getting to the top? These things bite two ways you know.”
“Oh I know,” said H, “but I’ve had my rabies’s shot.”
 
Scene 13
H found Judge Ojeda at the little bakery counter.
“Don’t say it lieutenant,” said the judge. “We all know the man is scum. Just catch him, alright?”
H nodded and smiled. “I will,” he said.
 
Scene 14
What is going on?” said Cynthia. “Why am I here?”
She stared up at Caleigh and Frank as they walked into the interrogation room.
“You for got to tell us about your little spat with you boss,” said Frank.
“With you’re former boss, Ms Sanchez,” said Calleigh. “You lied. You weren’t working at the club last night and you didn’t have missing bottles of scotch.”
“You were fired two nights ago after an argument with the now dead Joe,” said Frank.
“I didn’t think that anyone heard us,” said Cynthia shaking her head in dismay. “Look, Joe was a freak. I needed this job.”
“And he fired you,” said Calleigh, “and you phoned him the next day and went to his apartment.”
“Motive and opportunity,” said Frank.
“Ok,” said Cynthia in a panic. “Ever since I lost my broker’s license, I couldn’t get a decent job, I can’t by my car and mortgage any more. I need this bartender job just to make ends meet. And Joe, he just, he thinks he can make out with all his employees.”
“And you told him no,” said Frank, “and he fired you, and you killed him. Case closed.”
“No!” cried Cynthia. “I didn’t kill Joe. I called him and told him I changed my mind. I need this job. I didn’t shoot him. I didn’t.”
Ms Sanchez,” said Calleigh, leaning forward and staring into her eyes, “that may all be well and good, if you had told us the truth in the first place.”
“Look,” said Cynthia growing more scared, “I’m sorry, Ok? Lied and I’m sorry. But I didn’t kill Joe. I just didn’t.”
“I’m going to need to swap you for GSR,” said Calleigh, with a quick raise of her eyebrows.
“What ever,” said Cynthia, holding out both hands.
Frank shifted from one foot to the other as he watched Calleigh rub the little buffer on Cynthia’s right hand and spray it. It stayed white.
“You washed your hands,” said Frank.
Calleigh then took another buffer and rubbed it on Cynthia’s wrist and lower arm. This time it came out blue.
“I target practice with friends,” said Cynthia more frightened then before.
“The same morning that you former boss is shoot dead?” said Calleigh.
“That’s convenient,” said Frank.
“I didn’t kill Joe!” cried Cynthia.
“We’ll see about that,” said Calleigh. “This is a warrant for your clothes, car, and apartment.”
“My apartment!” cried Cynthia, taking the paper that Calleigh handed to her.
“Officers are already there,” said Calleigh.
“We are going to find that gun,” said Frank, “and then you’re going down for murder.”
“But I didn’t kill Joe!” cried Cynthia.
“Then you what are you so worried about?” said Calleigh.
 
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