Mermaids in the Pacific (Peyton Brooks, FBI Book 2)

by M. L. Hamilton

  “I think this is a dangerous conversation to have and you’re right, we should just keep it professional.”

  “I’m not going to get mad at you, Ryder. We’re grown men here. Just tell me the damn truth.”

  Jake held up a hand. “I have a little crush on her. Who wouldn’t? She’s great. You know, like Stan Neumann has.”

  “Stan Neumann has puppy love. He worships her. She could never live up to the fantasy he’s created about her, but you...you’re different.”

  “How am I different?”

  “She cares about you.”

  “She cares about Stan too. In fact, she cares about everyone on the planet.”

  Marco leveled a look on him. “You told me last night she’d be better off with you.”

  “I was drunk.”

  “What if you’re right?”

  Jake exhaled and looked away. “This is why I don’t want to have this conversation. You and me, we’re friends, Adonis. Whether you want to admit it or not, we are. We’ve been through a shit storm together and when she was in Quantico, you relied on me. Whatever I said last night was drunken babbling and it meant nothing. You and Peyton belong together. You’ve always belonged together and I don’t know why you waited so long to tell her that. Then I don’t know why you were such an idiot to run away when the situation got real, but you did. I’m not going to step in and interfere with that.”

  “But if I had died on Treasure Island?”

  “You didn’t.”

  “But if I had, Ryder, would you pursue something with her?”

  Jake scratched at his hair. “Shit, Adonis, this isn’t a good idea.”

  “Just answer me, okay?”

  Jake leaned forward, glancing toward the other part of the condo to make sure they weren’t being overheard. “Peyton’s awesome. I care about her deeply, and I’m not going to lie, I think she’s sexy as hell.”

  Marco’s hand curled into a fist on the table.

  “But it would never work and we both know it. She’s crazy in love with you and that isn’t something that is going to change, no matter what stupid, brain-dead things you pull. But here’s a little advice, D’Angelo. Pull your shit together and then spend the rest of your damn life doing everything in your power to make her happy. I got four years and then Zoë was gone. Four years is nothing.”

  Marco sighed.

  “So about the flapjacks? You in or not?”

  Marco nodded, staring into the depths of his coffee cup.

  * * *

  Sitting at Cho’s desk, Marco played the recording over and over again, watching the figure in the hood cross the screen, then the sound of smashing glass, followed by an object flying past the camera lens. Something about the video bothered him, but he couldn’t put his finger on it.

  He took it back to the beginning, concentrating on the figure in the hood. Maybe there was some way to get his height from the angle of the camera. It would give them more than they had now.

  “Cameras on every corner, in every store, and yet they still don’t show you much,” came a voice behind him.

  Marco glanced over his shoulder at Frank Smith, the beat cop with the thick head of hair and bushy mustache the envy of most men. He leaned back and scrubbed his hands over his eyes. “You’re right. This case has got me stumped.”

  “Cho and Simons asked me to update you on it. They ran down a few leads yesterday.”

  “Great. What you got?”

  “I went with Cho and Simons to check out some dead guy who got shot holding up a liquor store for cash. The cops shot him as he tried to get away.”

  “Name?”

  “Alvin Lefty Bennett.”

  “Lefty Bennett, huh?”

  Smith laughed and grabbed a chair. “Yeah, lost his left hand in some sort of accident. I need a name like that.”

  “We all need a name like that.” He considered a moment. “I’d probably be Gimp D’Angelo.”

  Smith laughed. “You’re Italian. You’d probably be The Gimp. I hate to think what mine would be.”

  “Big ‘Stache Smith.” He motioned at his upper lip.

  Smith laughed again.

  “You want a good Italian name, my brother Vinnie’s got one. We used to call him Vinnie the Juice.”

  “Vinnie the Juice? Why?”

  Marco shrugged. “He liked juice.”

  They laughed again.

  “Did Cho and Simons tell you their next move?”

  “Well, Lefty ain’t their man. All his priors were for knocking off stop-n-robs. He was dead a good two months before Greer bought it. Now they’re trying to track down the other two guys on Ryder’s list.”

  “I thought those guys were dead before Greer too?”

  “Yeah, but they’re trying to get something on them. Family, girlfriends, you know? Lefty was what you’d call a loner.”

  “Do the other two have records?”

  “One does. One doesn’t.”

  “The one that doesn’t, what’s his name?”

  “Calvin Delacruz.”

  “He was a client of the headshop?”

  “Yeah, AIDS.”

  “But he didn’t die from it?”

  “Nope. He was shot real close to the headshop, three blocks away.”

  “By who?”

  “Gang bangers. Robbed him and then put a plug in his skull. Right between the eyes.”

  “We didn’t get that case?”

  “Nope. The bangers were arrested a few blocks away, trying to use his credit card.”

  Marco reached over and started the video again. “What about our third guy?”

  “Emilio Velasquez. He’s promising.”

  “How?”

  “His girlfriend was picked up for assaulting an officer a week ago. She’s a real hot head, long list of priors. Assaults, gun violence. And get this, Emilio was picked up for arson when he was seventeen. Burned down the neighbor’s garage.”

  Marco stopped the video. “Huh, we should haul the girlfriend in. How was he killed?”

  “Drive-by. Someone sprayed the house with bullets and he caught two in the chest. Killed him instantly.”

  “They get a suspect?”

  “The Gang Task Force asked to run point on that one. They’ve been trying to get access to this gang for years now.”

  “Tell Cho and Simons to bring in the girlfriend. The arson angle’s our best bet.”

  “I’ll let them know.”

  “Thanks, Frank. I wish I didn’t think this was a red herring.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean we’re looking at guys who were dead before Greer got torched. I’m not seeing a motive for anyone surrounding them to do this.”

  “The list of current customers is long, Captain. I think they’re just trying to eliminate what they can.”

  “Yeah, but I think we need to go back to the original list. Ryder’s theory is that no one would do this if they were a current customer because they wouldn’t want to stop their source, but that’s pretty weak logic to me. We got drugs, we got desperate people, and one thing I know, desperate people do desperate things.”

  “I’ll let Cho and Simons know you want them to start on the other list.”

  “After they bring in Velasquez’s girlfriend.”

  “Got it.”

  Smith pushed himself to his feet as Marco started the video again. He watched, then hit the pause button, staring at the screen. Backing it up, he let it play….again and again and again. Reaching for the phone in his pocket, he thumbed it on and pulled up his contact list, pressing the icon for Cho.

  “What’s up, Captain?” came Cho’s voice after the third ring.

  “Where are you?”

  “Home. Just getting ready to come in.”

  “Grab Simons and hurry up.”

  “What’s up, boss?”

  “I may have found an image of the killer.”

  Cho went quiet for a moment. “We’re on our way.”

  * *
*

  Cho and Simons crowded around the desk as Marco played the video again. He paused it, pointing to the window of the teashop. “Look there. It’s a partial reflection of our guy.”

  Cho leaned closer, squinting at it. “I’ll be damned, but it’s blurry as hell.”

  Marco nodded, studying it. “That’s why I called Stan.”

  Simons placed a beefy hand next to him and leaned on his shoulder. Marco tried not to move away, but having such a big guy hovering over him made him anxious. “I don’t see nothing.”

  Marco swiveled the chair around, forcing both of them to back up. “I’ll show it to Stan and see if he can do anything. What else do you have for me?”

  “Bartlet and Smith are bringing in Emilio Velasquez’s girlfriend now. Calvin Delacruz is the last guy on the list. He had AIDs, so he was getting pot from the headshop, but he was shot by a couple of gang bangers who took his wallet. He has a father here in the City. I thought we’d ask the father to come in, but beyond that, we’re still at ground zero,” said Cho.

  “You’re going to have to go back to the longer list of current clients.”

  “That’s gonna take weeks to go through.”

  “Tag and Holmes almost have their case wrapped up. I’ll put them on the headshop case as soon as they’re finished.”

  Cho nodded.

  “What about the girl that works at the headshop? Brittany or whatever?”

  “Byrony Kenning? Nope, she’s got an alibi.”

  “She was at a rave up north,” said Simons. “We got pictures of her with the stage behind her.”

  “And the wife?”

  “She’d gone to Arizona to visit her sister. We have the plane tickets.”

  Stan bustled around the corner of the precinct. “What you got for me, Captain?”

  Marco motioned at the computer screen. “See that reflection there. Can you enhance it, so we can get a possible ID?”

  Stan leaned over Marco and clicked with the mouse. Marco again tried not to shy away. He knew what Ryder would say, that he was too damn uptight, but he hated feeling people looming over the top of him, especially when he couldn’t easily put distance between them.

  Stan clicked and clicked and clicked, his tongue caught between his teeth. He smelled like some sugary candy cereal Marco remembered eating as a kid. Glancing down, he noticed that Stan wore another silly t-shirt with a cartoon character and the saying Trek Yourself Before You Wreck Yourself emblazoned across his chest. And as always, his favorite converse sneakers.

  He envied Stan a little. He was so unafraid to be whoever the hell he wanted to be. Like Jake. Like Abe. Like Peyton. Marco frowned. He’d surrounded himself with free-spirited people, but why? He knew what Dr. Ferguson would say. He wanted to be like them, so he thought they might rub off on him, but he didn’t think that was what it was.

  He didn’t want to be them, but having them in his life made his existence less boring. Well, in all fairness, Peyton had brought them all into his life, so having her in his life made his existence less boring. He was no better than Devan. Everything always came back to Peyton.

  “I think I can clean it up.” Stan motioned to the screen. “We’ve only got half the face, but I’m pretty sure I can do a mirror image on the other half and give us a rough approximation. Then I’ve got some software that will help unpixelate the image.” He peered at Marco through his thick lens. “This is gonna take some time.”

  “Whatever it takes, Stan. I trust you.”

  Stan went still, then he ducked his head. “Thanks, Captain. If you let me get to the computer, I’ll send the video to myself.”

  Marco wheeled the chair back and grabbed his cane, standing up. Maybe he was getting the hang of this supervision thing after all. Tell your people you trust them, then they worked harder for you. Hm.

  “Tell me when Bartlet and Smith return with Velasquez’s girlfriend,” he said to Cho and Simons, then moved toward his office.

  * * *

  Luana Cooper was young, mixed race, and had a mouth on her like a truck driver. From the moment Cho escorted her into the interrogation room, she’d been using the f-word for every part of speech known to man. Marco watched through the two-way glass as Cho and Simons loomed over her. The entire time she swore at them, twisting her head around to see Simons behind her. She definitely had a temper, but he just wasn’t seeing how she could be linked to Quentin Greer.

  Finally Cho slammed a hand down on the table. “Enough. Say that word again and I’ll put you in lock up for indecency.”

  “Indecency? What the fu—”

  Cho pointed a finger at her and she clapped her mouth shut.

  “Why you got me here? What you think I do this time?”

  “We want to talk about Emilio Velasquez, your boyfriend.”

  She gave a short laugh. “My dead boyfriend. Besides that, he was a loser. I was fixin’ to get rid of the douchebag myself.”

  Cho took a seat across from her. “He get shot in your house or his?”

  “Our house. We rented it together.”

  “You know a place called the House of Weed.”

  “Yeah, that’s where Emilio got his ganja. He went there ever week. No doubt.”

  “What he need the ganja for?”

  “He had the glaucoma, you know?” She shook her head wryly. “He smoke from the time he roll his lazy ass out of bed until he pass out in front of the TV.”

  “Not a working man, eh?”

  She made a rude noise.

  “He ever tell you he had problems with Quentin Greer?”

  “Who?”

  “Quentin Greer, the ganja store owner?”

  “No.” She leaned forward and pointed at Cho. “I heard he got hisself burnt up. For real.”

  “Yeah, he’s dead.” Cho reached for the file. “Turns out Emilio liked to set fires for fun?”

  She made another noise. “He done that shit when he was a kid. He don’t do that stuff no more.”

  “He don’t do nothing no more?” said Cho.

  She gave a laugh. “No doubt.”

  “You don’t seem all that choked up about Emilio’s death?”

  “What you want me to do? He sit at home, smoking the ganja, and eatin’ my food. Ain’t nothing to get choked up over.”

  “Didn’t like the smoking, huh?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t care if you gonna be smokin’, so’s you go to work too. Emilio, he didn’t do nothing but the smokin’.”

  “Bet that pissed you off?”

  “Damn skippy!”

  “Enough to want to cut off his supply?”

  Luana leaned back, giving Cho a slow smile. “You mean you wanna know if I made the ganja dude a crispy critter?”

  Cho sighed, sharing a look with Simons. “Yep, I wanna know if you made him a crispy critter.”

  “I got an alibi. I was working at the Metreon Cinema 16. My boss is Danny Yang.” She gave him another cunning smile. “Anyways, I’m Buddhist.”

  “You’re Buddhist?”

  “Yep.”

  Cho picked up a paper and scanned it over. “I got a long list of priors here, Luana – assault, assault with a deadly weapon…” He glanced at Simons over her shoulder. “A waffle iron on that one.”

  “Ooowee!” said Simons.

  “Assault with a knife.”

  “That was a steak knife,” she said, waving her hand airily.

  “Illegal gun possession.”

  “I was holding it for a friend.”

  “Attacking an officer.”

  “Now that wasn’t my fault.”

  Cho gave a wry shake of his head. “I’m all ears.”

  “He grabbed my boob.”

  “He was trying to subdue you.”

  “By feeling me up? Shee-et.”

  “Still say you’re a Buddhist?”

  “Yeah. My shrink say I got anger management issues, on account of I weren’t breastfed or nothing, so I turn Buddhist.”

  Cho cl
osed the file and rose to his feet. “Sit tight, Dalai Lama.”

  “Who you calling a llama, pig!” she said, giving him a disgusted face.

  Cho just shook his head and left the room, stepping across to viewing. “She ain’t it, Captain.”

  Marco laughed. “No, but I like her.”

  “Yeah, she grows on you like mold.”

  “Cut her loose and go to the other list. I didn’t think this was gonna get us anything.”

  Cho nodded and turned to go.

  * * *

  Marco hesitated in the doorway of his office. Tag, Jake and Cho were making their way to the precinct door. He glanced outside, marking that dusk had fallen and cast long shadows over the back parking lot.

  “Thanks for coming in today,” he said to them.

  They came to an abrupt halt and looked over at him, then they shared a strange look.

  “Night, Captain,” said Cho, forcing a tense, awkward smile.

  Marco frowned.

  Tag held up a hand, giving him a half-hearted salute.

  “Enjoy the rest of your weekend,” he added. Something was definitely up. Jake wouldn’t make eye contact.

  “We will,” said Tag, pushing open the half door and nodding her head toward the outside. Cho pushed past her, but Jake hesitated, his face twisting into a troubled expression. With an exhalation, he turned to face Marco.

  “We’re going to dinner at Peyton’s.”

  Tag slapped him with the back of her hand, but he didn’t back down, rubbing the spot as surreptitiously as he could.

  Marco tilted back his head, his fingers tightening on the head of his cane. “Okay?” He tried to sound as casual as he could.

  “See you Monday, Captain,” said Tag, but Cho turned away from the door.

  “We can stay if there’s something else you need us to do.”

  Tag rolled her eyes.

  “No, go. It’s fine. Everything will wait until Monday. We’re stuck until Stan cleans up the video and ballistics won’t come back on the Cook gun before Monday at the earliest.”

  Jake shifted weight. “We could go get dinner or something.”

  Marco shook his head. “Go. I’m fine. I’ve got plans anyway.”