It wasn’t a bad philosophy.
Peyton picked up her beer and took a sip, looking over as a group of people at the bar sent up a wild cheer. Above them the flat screen television showed a soccer game. Peyton had no idea who was playing, but whoever it was, the patrons in the bar were happy about it.
She reached for her phone and looked at the display. 8:00PM meant it was noon in San Francisco. Excusing herself, she moved into a quiet corner and climbed on the barstool, leaning back against a wooden partition as she placed the call for Marco.
He connected almost immediately. She recognized the painting on the wall behind him, a photo of the Golden Gate in dense fog.
“Hey, sweetheart.”
“Hey. Why are you in the conference room?”
“We’re working a case. Actually, we just finished with lunch.”
Abe appeared over his shoulder, smiling at her. “We had a lunch date, my little soul sista. I brought the food.”
“Hey, Abe.”
“Hey, little one, how are you?”
“Good.”
The phone tilted until Marco was no longer visible. “Are you in a pub?”
“Yeah. We’re having a pint, eating fish and chips, and watching soccer.”
“Uh oh, they’re converting you.”
“Converting me to what?”
He leaned closer to the phone. “Walk away, Peyton, walk away. I think I detect a hint of a British accent.”
Peyton laughed. “Can I talk to my guy, Abe?”
“Look who’s here with me.” He held Pickles up to the screen.
“Why is Pickles at the precinct?”
“He wanted to see it.”
Peyton frowned. “Is everything all right with my dog?”
“Of course. He’s doing great.”
The phone shook and Marco’s face came back into the screen. “Give me a second, sweetheart. I’m going to my office.”
“Hey, Peyton,” came Jake’s voice, but Peyton couldn’t see him.
“Hey, Jake.”
She watched as Marco moved out of the conference room and to his office, closing the door behind him and taking a seat in one of the armchairs across from his desk.
He gave her a sigh. “That’s better.”
“Is Pickles all right?”
“He’s fine. Abe just makes shit up.”
“Why’d he bring him to the precinct?”
“He thinks he misses you.”
Peyton felt tears sting her eyes. She missed Pickles, and she especially missed Marco. This case didn’t seem to be winding up anytime soon. As much as she loved London, she wanted to go home.
“If it’s okay with you, I thought I’d spend the night at your place tonight. Let Pickles have a night at home.”
“Of course. I should have thought of that to start with. You’re welcome to stay there.”
He smiled. “So how’s the case coming?”
She braced her chin with a hand. “Frustrating. Can we talk about something else?”
“Sure. What?”
“Macbeth.”
“Macbeth?”
“The Shakespearean play. We saw it last night. It really got to me.” Peyton leaned her head back against the wall and started telling Marco about Macbeth, and the more she talked the more her loneliness eased.
* * *
Marco took a seat in his usual spot between Barb and Kurt. The younger man gave him a glance from the corner of the eyes, but Barb reached over and patted his shoulder. He offered her a smile, then focused on Tricia, the group leader.
“Welcome, everyone. So, would anyone like to begin group?”
Mitch shot a look around, then raised his hand. “I asked the landlord if I could paint my new apartment.”
“Good for you, Mitch,” said Tricia.
“It seemed like a more permanent move, you know, putting up some paint, giving it some of my personality.”
“Exactly.”
“I feel like I’m really starting to see myself separate from Brian. Like I’m a whole person.”
“That’s a huge step forward, Mitch. I’m so glad you’re making such good progress. It’s hard to move beyond a relationship that defined us in a way, even a negative way, but once you start realizing that you deserve to be treated better…”
“I want to hear about the priest,” interrupted Kurt.
Marco felt his shoulders stiffen involuntarily and he stared at his clasped hands.
“Tell me about the priest you shot.”
Marco’s eyes rose and met Tricia’s.
“You know that’s not the way we do things here, Kurt. Everyone shares only what they want to share.”
“Then talk about what it’s like getting shot. Do you remember it? Do you remember what it felt like?”
Marco closed his eyes.
“Kurt!” Tricia’s voice was sharp for the first time, but Marco held up a hand. He knew the kid wasn’t trying to be provocative. He really wanted...needed to know. Marco just didn’t know if he could talk about it.
He drew a deep breath and felt Barb’s hand on his shoulder. The gentle pressure bolstered him and he shifted toward the kid. “I have a hard time remembering it.” He felt a prickle of sweat bead his upper lip and he wiped it away. “I remember walking into the warehouse and I remember hearing voices. And I remember…” His voice failed him. He still woke in a cold sweat at night, still saw Chuck Wilson with his gun pointed at Peyton’s head, telling her to end it with him.
“Marco, you don’t have to do this.”
He rubbed his hands on his thighs and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath and holding it, then slowly releasing. “I remember him...the serial killer...holding a gun on Peyton. He wanted her to die with him. Suicide/murder pact.” He swallowed hard and Kurt’s eyes lifted to his.
“Do you remember the bullet hitting you?”
“I’m not sure. I remember this blazing pain and landing on my back. I remember looking up at the rafters or beams or whatever they were and I remember wondering where my gun was. I remember thinking I had to get my gun.”
“Did you think you were going to die?”
Marco shook his head, shrugging helplessly. “I don’t know, Kurt. I don’t know if I thought I was going to die, but the last thing I remember is Peyton begging me…”
“Begging you?”
“Not to leave her. And I thought…” He ran a hand over his forehead, wiping the sweat away.
“What? What did you think?”
Marco met his gaze, saw the desperation there, and he couldn’t answer. He shook his head. “I...I don’t know. I don’t know what I thought.”
Barb’s fingers tightened on his shoulder. “That’s enough, Kurt.” She turned to Tricia. “Call a break.”
“Yeah,” said Tricia a little breathlessly. “Let’s take a five minute break. Get some refreshments.”
Kurt stared at him for a moment, but he couldn’t meet his gaze, then the kid rose suddenly and walked over to the refreshment table, followed by Mitch and Linda. Rodney shifted uncomfortably and Barb gave his shoulder a final squeeze before heading toward the restroom.
Tricia came over and sat down in Kurt’s vacated chair. “I’m sorry, Marco.”
He shook his head, shrugging.
“He shouldn’t have pushed like that.”
“It’s fine.”
Tricia curled her fingers over his fist. He didn’t even realize he made fists until then. “What did you think at that moment, Marco?”
He looked up at her.
“When Peyton begged you not to leave her?”
Marco let out a shivery pant. “I thought I didn’t want to go.”
The meeting didn’t last much longer. No one seemed willing to open themselves up after that. Linda talked about looking at cats in the shelter, but explained that none connected with her the way Bob had. Barb mentioned she’d started a painting class to fill the time, but each topic stayed on the surface, remained shallow.
Finally Tricia wrapped things up and released them. Marco half expected Kurt to ambush him on the way out, but as soon as Tricia said the meeting was over, he jumped to his feet and scuttled out as if his clothes were on fire.
By the time Marco got to the Charger, his leg blazed with agony and missing Peyton was almost a physical ache in his gut. He admitted to himself that he desperately wanted a drink, but he dragged his battered body into the car and drove to Peyton’s house instead.
Pickles greeted him joyously when he opened Peyton’s door and he leaned over to pick the little dog up, groaning as the motion jarred his leg. Setting Pickles on the couch, he removed his suit jacket and gun, dropping both on the sofa table where she left her things. He added his keys and badge, but when he went to place his wallet beside the other things, he missed and the wallet fell under the table.
His reluctance to drag it out, even with his cane, and bend over to pick it up told him more about his state of mind than anything else, so he left it where it lay. He’d be in better spirits tomorrow when bending over to retrieve something wouldn’t have him grabbing a shot of Jack just so he could accomplish it.
Scooping Pickles off the couch, he limped into Peyton’s bedroom and dropped down on the bed, breathing deeply and trying to fill his lungs with her scent. A few minutes later, he fell asleep without removing the rest of his clothing.
CHAPTER 13
Charlie scrubbed his hands on his thighs and approached the counter. The bobbies hurried back and forth, radios crackling and people shouting to each other. The chaos confused him and made him want to run, but he had to do something. He had to stop Niles.
“Excuse me.”
“Just a minute, mate,” said a portly man, only half glancing at him.
Charlie was used to this. People rarely saw him, remembered him when they did. They had this way of looking past him, over him as if he were invisible. That was how Niles operated. How Niles managed to do what he did. No one saw him. No one noticed. Until he howled.
“Excuse me,” he said to a woman in uniform moving past the counter.
She waved to him and continued on her way, not once making eye contact.
Two men in delivery uniforms entered the outer glass doors and came to the counter, ringing a bell. They carried a number of packages between them. They shouldered him aside, so they could set the packages on the counter.
“Watch yourself,” said one of them, reaching for the bell on the counter. A young male officer came to the counter and greeted them, taking the stylus the second guy offered and scrawling on an electronic clipboard.
“Packing slip?” he asked, tilting up his chin to read the packages.
The second guy opened the clipboard and took a pink slip of paper out, passing it to the officer, then they left, stepping around Charlie without so much as begging his pardon. He stood on tiptoes, trying to see past the counter, but the boxes blocked a good portion of his view.
“Excuse me!” he tried louder, but no one noticed.
Feeling panic edge up inside of him, he backed to the door, then grabbed the handle and went out, hurrying into the street. He knew he should stay away from the tube, but the dark platforms called to him. He could be invisible there and no one would care. If he did a really good job, he could hide so well that Niles wouldn’t find him.
He pushed his way through the early morning crowd, found the closest tube station and hurried down the stairs. Pressing up close behind a man in a business suit, he slipped through as the man used his Oyster card. He was so quick, he only felt a slight pressure as the barricade pressed in on either side, trying to stop him from doing exactly what he was doing.
He followed the crowd down to the platform, then moved along the wall, slipping into the alcove of the maintenance closet and sliding down until he sat on the cool metal of the floor. He closed his eyes and drew a deep breath, trying to still the frantic pounding of his heart. He’d tried to do the right thing, but it hadn’t worked. Now all he had to do was stay hidden and everything would be all right.
Keeping his eyes closed, he listened to the trains come and go, the people getting on and off. Gradually the traffic slowed as the morning drifted toward 10:00. If he could make it past 10:00, he would probably be all right.
He heard the footsteps and he curled in on himself, praying it was a security guard or a maintenance worker. Then he felt the hot breath on his neck and heard the voice, whispering so close to his ear.
There you are. Hiding? From me?
“Please go away.” He fisted his hands and covered his ears with them.
You know I don’t like it when you hide. Come on. It’s time to go hunting.
“No, no more.”
See the girl. She’s panting. She’s late. She missed her train. Look at her pacing.
“Please leave her alone.” Charlie opened his eyes and peeked out from beneath his arm. He could see the girl in the skirt, silk stockings, high-heeled pumps, pacing on the platform, looking up at the sign. She hadn’t noticed them yet, not hidden as they were in the alcove.
Let’s have some fun.
“No. No more. No more. No more.” Charlie tapped his fists against his ears, closing his eyes again.
Fine. Then I’ll have fun by myself.
Charlie went still. He couldn’t take it anymore. He couldn’t watch another one die. No matter what happened, he had to do something. He lurched to his feet and darted out of the alcove, startling her.
Her eyes whipped up to him and she saw him, really saw him.
“Run!” he growled at her. “Run!” Then he tipped back his head and howled.
* * *
“Charles or Charlie Howsham,” said Caleb, dropping a picture on the table in front of the Ghost Squad.
Radar leaned over and picked it up. “Charles Howsham?”
Peyton peered over Radar’s shoulder at the picture of the man with the slicked-back brown hair, wearing a grey utilitarian button-up shirt. He had brown eyes that looked worried and a gentle mouth that didn’t smile.
“When was this taken?” she asked.
“Three and a half years ago.”
“At Broadmoor?”
“Correct.”
“Do we know what he was being treated for?”
“I’ve served a subpoena for their records, but they’re citing confidentiality. The judge will be hearing it this afternoon, but we may not need it.”
“Why not?” asked Radar, dropping the picture on the table again.
“I found his parents. They live in Penshurst, about 45 minutes by tube just outside of Charing Cross Station.”
“Can we talk to them?” asked Bambi.
“I don’t think we should all converge on them at once,” said Caleb, giving Bambi a sultry wink.
She blushed and lowered her head.
Caleb continued, “I’ll definitely need to be there as a representative of Scotland Yard, but I’d like one of you to accompany me.”
Radar drummed his fingers on the table. “We haven’t located the peanut guy yet. I still want to talk to him. He was the closest witness on the bridge when Cooper died.”
“Bambi and I can go back out and canvas the area. The Burroughs Market is open today, so there’s likely going to be a lot of vendors plying their trade,” said Tank. “We might get lucky and find him there.”
“Good thinking,” said Caleb. “Which means you, Radar, and Agent Brooks are with me.”
“Do you need to contact the parents before we show up on their doorstep?”
“I think it’s best if we don’t give them warning. The element of surprise might just work for us better than anything else has.”
“Then let’s go.” Radar pushed himself to his feet.
As Peyton rose to follow him, Tank reached for his phone and pulled it out, frowning at the display. Peyton watched him, wondering if it had anything to do with the picture she’d been sent the day before. Jerking his head toward the door, Tank walked into the hallway.
Radar lifted his hand, but didn’t respond, following Caleb out of the room. Peyton waited until they’d gone, then she hurried after Tank. He was waiting at the end of the hall for her, his phone pressed to his ear.
“Okay, thanks. Yeah, whatever you can find. Yes, send it to me or Agent Brooks. I appreciate it.” He hung up and slipped his phone into his jacket pocket. “That was Forensics.”
“The phone number?”
Tank nodded. “It came from a burner cell.”
Peyton felt disappointment slide over her. “Awesome.”
“They have the picture though and they’re going to try to research it, see if they can find a source.”
“It was a cell phone picture.”
“Yes, but someone may have posted it on a social media site or something. If they can trace it, we might be able to find out who took it.”
“It’s worth a shot, I guess.”
Tank shrugged. “I’m afraid it’s all we’ve got.”
“Do you think I should confront Lange’s assistant about the lie?”
“Not yet. Let’s play this close to the vest for now. The picture was sent from a burner cell. There’s a reason for that, Peyton. This case is starting to worry me and I’m not sure we know what we’ve gotten ourselves into.”
“Should we tell Radar?”
Tank looked down the hall. “You know what he’s going to say?”
“Focus on the live case first.”
“Exactly. Let’s find this werewolf, then regroup and see what we’ve got. If we both think it’s enough to bring Radar in, we will.”
“Hey!” came Bambi’s voice. She moved back into the hallway. “Are we going to the market or not?”
“Yeah,” said Tank. “Coming.” He gave Peyton a squeeze on her upper arm and moved past her, hurrying to Bambi’s side and disappearing around the corner.
Werewolves in London (Peyton Brooks, FBI Book 3) Page 24
